


Mirage

by Jasminau



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hallucinations, Interrogation, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Minor Character Death, Multi, Multiple Personalities, Mystery, Obsessive Behavior, Past Relationship(s), Suspense, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-20 12:55:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22184215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jasminau/pseuds/Jasminau
Summary: When someone from Maeve's past pays an unwelcome visit, she is forced to deal with the memories they bring.
Relationships: Joker (DCU)/Original Female Character(s), Joker (DCU)/Reader, Joker (DCU)/You
Comments: 29
Kudos: 29
Collections: Bad Peeps in Love





	1. Ghost

A soft hum echoing, the rush of blood in my ears pulling me, drawing me out of sleep. I can feel my chest rising, falling, it hurts, feels tight and sore. My head… it’s heavy, hanging low, straining my neck, a dull ache stretching at the muscles down my spine. If I could hold on to a thought, maybe… foggy, everything’s foggy. I’m so _tired_. Maybe I can just—

My body tenses in an exaggerated flinch when a loud boom bellows out, surrounding my form for what feels like an eternity. High-pitched ringing fills then leaves my ears, replaced by more whooshing of blood. It’s not before my cheek starts searing in a hot flash that I realize I’ve strung my face into deep tension. It burns, like the back of a hot pan is pressed against it. The cold air of the room offering no relief. I nearly flinch again, but the skin on my cheek feels taut, swollen, ready to split.

The sound dissipates, it sounds… further away. My eyelids feel stuck together, but I force them open slowly. It’s all hazy for a moment, a couple of blinks going from clearer to misty again. God, I need to rub them, get the sleep out of the corners—

“Good morning…, sun _shine_ ,” A voice spikes out from across the room, drawing out the words slowly like they’re weighing out each syllable.

I quickly find the source, but the haze is still caught in my eyes, the figure appearing blurry. I can’t decipher between the effects of the cloudiness and reality, but the … thing across the room seems to keep moving slightly. Squinting to focus, my surroundings become clearer. The cracked concrete walls seem to cave in slowly, falling closer into each other, laced with random markings, dark stains… they’re spread all over. Black to a deep crimson run down the walls like wet paint, pooling at the ground.

My eyes follow the deep red droplets on the floor that form a splattered trail to where I am. The high-pitched ringing returns and the stains suddenly haze out into a blur. My body feels like it’s refusing to see it. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping to clear them, I can’t… I can’t use my hands to rub the sleep out. My body must still be asleep, it’s not _listening_ to me. But… my jaw feels cool, a nice chill soothing the fire underneath my skin, almost like it’s caressing me gently.

I didn’t feel that before. Maybe I just didn’t notice. I can feel myself leaning into it when the feeling starts to leave. A sudden _yank_ dips my head backwards violently, pain shooting down my neck.

“Ah ah…,” The voice is back, closer. So close its breath fans over my face. “You’ve had your little, uh… na _p_ ,” It doesn’t sound real; it’s faltering from grave to a nasally high-pitch. My mind feels static, heavy, trying to pull me into sleep once again. The closer I get, the louder the voice in my head begs me not to.

_Why not?_

_This is just a dream; your mind is playing around with you._

A sting tears itself into my cheek, a sudden flood of searing hot pain latching onto the area and my head is yanked back again. A hiss leaves my mouth as my body tries to jerk away.

“What did I _say_ about nodding off during our little… chats, hm?” The breath pricks at my nose, they’re too close, I need to get _away_.

The soothing chill creeps back, this time spreading to my cheeks and feathering over my lips. Deep black orbs bore into me when I finally open my eyes. There’s a dark simmer of anger, but it’s quickly replaced with an abrupt calmness. Almost… pleased. The twist in my stomach eases, and I can feel myself mirroring their expression.

_Everything’s alright._

A soft smile eases itself slowly onto my mouth when I see his. Why was I scared?

_See? This isn’t a nightmare._

But the longer I stare at his sweet smile, the harsher it gets. The corners of his mouth pull wider, stretching almost to his ears. The droplets of red on the floor seem to have gathered on his face, tearing his cheeks into gruesome wounds. The smile is gone, displaced by the fresh-looking injuries. His lips, his _real_ lips rest unbothered, cast into a line of a disingenuous pout.

His eyes keep staring into my own, flickering ever so slightly to follow each change in my expression as it turns into horror. There’s a strange delight that soon lingers on his face.

“Good. _Good_ ,” He says, releasing my jaw from his grip. My head drops down again, not having the strength to hold it up. This weakness… it’s consuming my whole body, gripping at my shoulders and forcing me lower. I can’t keep myself upright, but somethings holding me in place, wrapping around my ribs tightly. It digs into my skin, the area aching with a dull throb.

I hear footsteps coming towards me before I notice he even left my side.

“Now—,” There’s a quick beeping sound and he’s pulling my head back again, holding something close to my face. “You were telling us all about how… _crazy_ you were going without me,” He nods his head slightly, but he’s not looking at me. His face is illuminated in the dark room by the artificial light in his hand. He keeps moving, eyes fixated on the screen as he draws the lens closer to my face.

“What… what are you talking about?” My voice sounds weak, my body exhausted from the little exertion it’s had. The grip on my hair tightens then releases, draining out whatever energy I had left. His hand is back on my cheek, daring to press down even slightly would feel like he split the skin. This… this _dream_ is getting too vivid, too real.

“Sh sh, back to the _story_ ,” There’s a warning hidden in his tone that I barely hear, but the squeeze he gives my throat indicates enough.

“I— I don’t know what you’re saying,” My throat feels scratchy, dry and I can hardly get my words out. My head droops forward without his support, hitting the camera he didn’t bother to move. There’s a sore ache growing in the back of my eyes, and I can feel myself starting to shiver against the cold seeping through what I can see now is metal chains wrapped around my ribs.

He kneels down again, his face inches from mine. I can’t see the camera anymore, but a swift beep lets me know he’s stopped recording.

“You gettin’ a little uh, … _stage fright_?” There’s a long silence that draws out. He’s waiting, isn’t he?

“No, I—,” I retort quickly. I don’t want him to be mad. _Let him wake you up._

“ _No_?” He tilts his head in mocking benevolence, his voice filled with barely-contained amusement. His breath quickens, biting his bottom lip to stop a giggle from exploding out. Tears prick the edges of my eyes, watching him soak in the look I’m giving him. He leans closer, his scarred cheek brushing against mine when I feel his breath on my ear.

“Where’s all the, uh, _emotion_ from before, _hm_?,” He says quietly, slanting his head to the side so his cheek meets mine fully. Just _feeling_ the wound against my skin makes me cringe backwards and I swear he leaves a stain of his blood on my cheek, but his hand on the side of my neck stops me from getting even an inch away.

He moves his head to stare into my eyes again, brows raised, his thumb gently stroking my throat.

“What? You— you can’t _remember_ , can you?” He mocks me, already shaking his head before I begin to move mine. Sighing, he straightens himself, his thumb guiding my chin up he can keep my eyes trained on him.

The man steps back, going out of focus again. All I see are the shades of green and purple on his figure. His grip on my chin tightens, roughly moving my head from side to side.

“Looks like I, ah, hit ya head a little _too_ hard,” He says, mostly to himself. “that little… _minx_ has gone into hiding,” His lips form into a snarl.

What is he _talking_ about?

“But don’t worry—,” He releases my chin abruptly, letting my head fall. “I’ll get her out again… _One way_ or _another_ ,” Giggling to himself, his hands blur, seemingly searching around the green and purple on his body. It makes me feel sick like I’m being swayed on a boat. My head lulls to the side. It’s getting too much, I need to wake up. Or _change_ what I’m dreaming about. If I _know_ it’s a dream, it’ll go away, right?

His hands stop moving, becoming slightly clearer. One hand holds itself in the air as he steps closer to me.

_Wake up, wake up, wake UP._

“I—… ya see _she’s_ the one I wanna, uh, keep… _so_ , I need to make One. Thing. Clear.” The hand he’s holding in the air works side to side, emphasizing his words.

“I can’t have _you_ being my _only_ vulnerability,”

A quick _click_ sounds, silver catching the scarce light of the room before everything turns black.


	2. Let Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set a couple of hours before chapter 1 :)

_“What can I say, doll? I was a little, uh—,” A grin quickly spreads across his mouth. “I was a little_ busy _.”_

_He’s sitting in the chair halfway across the room, eyebrows raised in pride as his tongue darts out to lick his lips. He’s radiating smugness. God, if he wasn’t aggravating enough._

_“Oh,_ please _,” A scoff leaves my mouth. “Save the bullshit, Ja—,”_

_“Don’t—,”_

_“No,_ you _don’t,” His eyes give me a warning not to press, to leave whatever I’m about to say unsaid. A look I’ve seen too many times to count. It leaves me biting my tongue, wishing I had the guts to keep pressing. If I didn’t_ know _what he’d do if I did, maybe I would._

 _He rolls his eyes, the black war paint that surrounds them fading. The ghostly white he’s caked his face in offering a blank canvas to the gruesome red of his scars and lips; it lets him toy with people, makes them terrified. Gives him that little_ kick _. All the makeup is new. To anyone who didn’t know better, they’d think he was hiding behind some sort of mask, but I can only see_ him _._

_There’s a quick snicker that leaves him as he readjusts in the chair, hands going to rest on his thighs._

_“Don’t get all…_ dramatic _on me,” He drawls, almost appearing to cringe as if he’s disappointed in me._

 _A quick flash of anger turns my face hot. I glare at him, imagining a scenario where I_ wasn’t _all tied up and could beat his stupid face in. Struggling against the cold chains wrapped around my chest and torso, a frustrated grunt comes out before I can bite it back._

 _He just watching me, an eyebrow perked. He’s not smiling anymore, only waiting with what I know is limited patience. He wants this to be done quickly, for me to get over it so he can start_ his _fun. I try to yank myself out of the chains once more, found unsuccessful, I heave out an irritated sigh and dip my head back, looking up at the ceiling._

 _“Oh, what’s the matter?” The words spill from his mouth slowly. If he’s trying to sound empathetic, he failed miserably. Instead, he sounds bored, like he’s not even trying to pull out a trace of warmth._

_I chew on the inside of my mouth, letting whatever insult I’m about to throw at him die before he hears it. I tune my attention to the surroundings before my mind thinks of other ways that have the potential to get me killed. The cracks in the ceiling are lined with darkness, the small, flickering light bulb offering only a scene from nightmares. But it’s like his boredom has rubbed off on me. This creepy… room he’s placed us in doesn’t tug on any fear I might have. The anger from before has dissipated, his presence draining any strong emotion that may come out._

_“Look at me,” It’s not a request, all the playfulness in his voice long gone._

_I force myself to hold the gaze on the ceiling, ignoring any self-preserving voice in my head. I wait for his voice to bellow out, shake the room and make me want to curl into a ball, make me_ fear _him like I used to. But nothing happens, just the constant buzz of the lightbulb filling the room. It’s not before he’s standing in front of me that I flinch back._

_He reaches out slowly, gently taking a hold of a small bunch of my hair and twirls it in his fingers._

_“I wanted to this to be a, uh, nice little reunion,” He says quietly, nodding his head and tugging at the strand a couple of times. A second warning, another that I want to ignore._

_“No, you didn’t,” I say, my eyes falling from the ceiling to his. A twitch at the corner of his lips betrays his caring façade, his tongue darting out once more. The moisture he adds to his lips stains the red, appearing as if the scars were back to being freshly cut. Something he was proud of._

_“No…,” He gives me a quizzing look. “But we’ve always been good at making things…_ interesting _, hm?” His words try to draw me into memories I wish I didn’t have._

The sudden image of blood slowly dripping, flowing down the pale blue tiles, creating a painful trail down to the bathtub. Glass litters the ground, little pockets of blood and skin cut into the shattered mirror. Soft breathing, turning eventually into deep hyperventilation, shaking, tuned out crying as if they’re coming from another room.

Spluttering gurgles can be heard from the bathtub, but it’s too much to look, my feet won’t carry me there. I’m stuck drinking in the scene, getting lost in the pools of blood forming in the sink. The air feels like it’s leaving my body, something around my chest and neck squeezing until it feels like everything is collapsing around me

 _“What’s the_ matter _with you, hm?” He’s shaking my shoulders, pulling me back to the present. “Can’t get over a_ little _, little_ sacrifice _?”_

_“Sacrifice?!” I try to shove him off me, anger fueling me once again. He goes to grip the back of my neck, but I struggle out of his hands, moving as much as I can away from him._

_“Ah ah—, would ya hold_ still _?” He sounds constricted, holding in a laugh that begs to escape._

_I keep fumbling away from him before he has my jaw held tightly in his hands, thumbs pressed down on my lips. He keeps me like that for a couple of seconds, testing to see if I’ll struggle again, but I don’t move, using only my eyes to stab daggers into him._

_“I didn’t—,” He lets a giggle slip before he hardly composes himself again. “I didn’t know you’d be so, uh, … so_ sensitive— _I mean, don’t get me wrong, but you’d_ think _a girl would learn to_ let go,”

 _He erupts with laughter, his body shaking in reaction, but the grip on my jaw stays constant, if not stronger. He gives me a quick squeeze before easing off again. As he’s doubling over in his joy, I can feel a swell of tears filling the corner of my eyes. My bottom lip trembles as I try to clear my mind. I don’t want it going down that path, to think about that night. How tight my chest was crushed from the inside, how I felt so_ hopeless _and was left to drink in every single detail._

You could’ve stopped it. But you just don’t _listen_.

_A sob pushes itself past my lips, my eyes squeezing shut, letting the tears roll down my face. They leave trails on my cheeks that feel like they’re burning into my skin, sizzling the surface and seeping through the muscles to create deep gashes. Every sensation seems to turn up to a thousand, leeching onto the one sob and drawing more out of me._

_The chains seem to tighten around my chest, pushing the air out of my lungs and denying access to more that I desperately try to draw in after each sob. I can hear him grunt with distaste, but his voice echoes in my head, the volume rising each time instead of softening. I can feel him shaking me again, my head snapping back and forth with each motion. The numbness starts to creep in, dulling the sharp grip holding onto my body._

_Lightheadedness dares to pull me into unconsciousness before a blunt force whips my head to the side, tearing into my cheek. At first, nothing is felt, but then hot steering pain wraps itself around half of my face, everything else lost in second. Something yanks my head to face forward, clutching my jaw so hard I panic it might crack under the pressure._

_His voice is muffled out by the high-pitched ringing in my ears. I try to find his eyes, plead him to give me some time, but everything blurs out, all I can define are the deep black holes and terrifying red grin carved into his face._

_My head is whipped to the side once more, fire emanating from my cheek as the taste of iron fills my mouth. This time the ringing is gone and I can hear everything too well. His breathing is ragged, almost seething. The blurriness has cleared, every detail of his scarred, painted face brooding down at me._

_“You just can’t_ listen _, can you?” His voice is low. “You’re beginning to make me think you_ want _to get hurt,”_ _His eyes search mine, showing no interest when he finds the fear in mine._

_I try to shake my head frantically, but his grip returns to my jaw to stop me. His bare hand feels too hot on my skin, the burning feeling slowly creeping back before it quickly retreats, his hand sliding down to my throat._

_“You’re still… stuck on this_ idea _that he_ cared _…, hm?” A soothing element introduces itself into his voice, the anger that threatened to make me suffer disappearing._

Why wouldn’t _he_ care?

“ _These_ delusions _you’re holding onto… they, uh, they’re holding you back,” He says, nodding his head slowly as his eyes bore into mine. His thumb traces up and down my neck, watching as my breathing begins to slow._

 _“You don’t want to be_ held back _, do ya?” He’s shaking his head now and before I realize what I’m doing and where it will lead me, I’m following his actions, prompting a warm smile to emerge from his lips._

_“You’ve been held back for too long. That’s why I, uh, …helped.” His head seems to go back to nodding as his thumb begins to draw imaginary circles on my throat._

He’s trying to _help_ you, why can’t you see that? You should _thank_ him.

 _I look away from him for a moment, the thoughts in my head twisting at my stomach. It’s not guilt, the idea of thanking him makes me feel_ sick.

That’s because you’re weak. _He’ll_ make you stronger.

_I shake my head slightly, attempting to get rid of these theories my mind seems to be coming up with._

_“Don’t worry—, we can work on your… weakness,” What? The confusion plasters itself onto my face, furrowing my brows. “Oh?” His voice emits a condescending playfulness. “Don’t tell me she’s, uh, poking out already?”_

_A genuine smile spreads across his face, another laugh peeking through. The look on my face seems to please him, egg him on. I try to ignore the feeling beginning to spread across my body, a dull ache that forms into lightness. The weight of the room lifts before I grasp at them with my eyes, forbidding the surroundings to morph into pleasant ones._

_The light starts to falter more, twitching into darkness every couple of seconds. The walls bloom with a calm white when the room illuminates from pitch black again, his face appearing softer as well. The dark brown embers in his eyes study my own, his scars no longer deep red gashes but a gentle pink. There’s a slight tan in his skin, the stark white makeup abandoning his face._

_Another flicker of the light and a quick shake of my head brings the harshness of the scene back. The walls returning to stained concrete, old blood permanently dripping. The soft embers are now black holes, crushing all life as they pierce into my own, daring to swallow me whole._

_“All you have to do is let_ go _,” His voice radiates around me. “She and I… we’ll, uh, we’ll_ help _ya. I— ya see, I_ generously _took care of the first step for ya,”_

_His hands cradle my face, stroking my cheeks with his thumb. The right side of my face still throbs, the warmth of his hands only igniting the simmering burning underneath my skin. But I don’t mind it. There’s something calming about the way his voice surrounds me, alleviating the deep pain in my heart and whisking it away._

He’s right, you know. You won’t feel so _bad_ if you give in.

_He leans closer to me, his head twitching slightly with poorly hidden excitement._

_“Do you want us to_ help _you?” He asks, eyebrows raising in question._

 _My head nods without me telling it to, but I don’t try to stop it. I_ want _to stop feeling this pain, the guilt that comes crashing whenever I think about that night, about how it was all my fault._

Was it, though? You _tried_ to leave.

 _But that’s exactly why it_ was _my fault. I_ tried _._

He planned this the whole time, you know that.

_“Say it…” He coos, head tilting to the side slightly. His eyes droop, watching my lips so he can see the words coming out of my mouth. But they never come. If I say them out loud, he’ll latch on and never give up. He’ll draw her out of me until it’s only her._

_His eyes flicker up to mine for a second when my lips don’t move, the grip on my cheeks tightening._

_“Say_ it _,” His lips form a line of seriousness, voice deep and threatening._

_A shaky breath leaves my mouth._

_“I—… I want you to help me,” The words feel like acid spilling from my lips, toxic smoke that he so desperately wants to breathe in._


	3. How We Got Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is set a couple of years before chapter 1 and 2!

The image in the mirror begins to contort from how long I've been staring at it. My eyes float from each object that can be seen through the reflection, but it's mindless, I don't register any of it; how my hands grip the sheets on either side of my body, how my shoulders hunch slightly over as I sit at the edge of my bed, the void in my eyes and dark circles under them, how the setting sun hits the wall behind me, creating a soft glow around my room. My attention is quickly drawn to the corner of my room, two quiet vibrations ruffling in the pocket of my jacket. It takes a couple of seconds to pull away from the almost sleeping state I was in and force myself up, an exhausted sigh escaping through my lips as I stand and make my way across the room. 

I search through the jacket that's been carelessly thrown over the chair, paper crippling and then another two buzzes being heard before my phone is a weighing down my hand. The screen lit up by the texts, causing my eyes to flinch closed slightly to adjust.

**And just be careful**

The most recent text reads, and I can feel a groan at the back of my throat about to make itself known. I unlock the phone, the series of texts now filling the screen.

**He said he'll meet you at 9 pm**

**Don't be late, he gets a little paranoid**

**Good luck**

The typing bubble comes up another few times, but no new texts come through. I'm about to reply when my phone erupts with buzzing and my quick but regretful response is to accept the call.

"—Do you want me to do it?" His voice comes straight out, not waiting for me to greet him. He sounds nervous, his voice is jittery and quick. _A_ _lways with the second thoughts_.

"I'll be fine, I've already got everything ready," A soft, breathy laugh leaving my mouth as I try to persuade him.

"Great—, I'll come to pick it up or something," I can hear ruffling and clinging in the background of the call. God, he's already about to leave.

"I _appreciate_ your concern," I force my voice to become more stubborn to stop him from heading here, and I find the sarcasm and almost outright _rudeness_ that has weaved its way into my words don't bother me. "but _I've_ got it _covered_."

There's a silence from the other end of the call that almost makes me think he's put the phone on the counter and walked away, — _I've seen him do it once, he doesn't like the concept of just hanging_ up — if it weren't for his obnoxiously loud breathing.

"The _client_ isn't like the others, you can— I promise, I'll give you the next one,"

"Jesus Christ, calm down—,"

"I'm being serious, this guy is _creepy_ on a good day," 

" _Daniel_ , shut _up_. It'll be a two-second thing," I say, my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose. I turn on my heel, looking across the room to the alarm clock. 10 minutes until I have to leave.

I can hear him conjuring up an excuse over the phone, but the words that meet my ear don't absorb, my mind is too busy going over how tonight will play out.

Not waiting for him to finish, I grab the house keys from my desk and begin nudging my feet into my shoes.

"Listen, I'll be fine— it'll all be fine," My voice quickening to get in a _word_ through any gap of silence he's leaving on his rampage to persuade me. "How about I text you when I get home? Would that make you feel better?" Another breathy laugh escapes without my permission, but I can't help it. All his _worrying_ reminds me of a mother through their child's teenage years.

I hear him sigh loudly, "I know you're joking, but... I _guess_ that'd make me feel less... _stressed_ about it," He doesn't sound convinced, but all I need to do is keep him home while I'm out.

" _Great_!" — Back with the sarcasm — "Now good _bye_ ,"

"Yeah, yeah, what _ever_." Two beeps mark that he's ended the call, but I know he's not mad. Just _upset_ that he lost this argument - not that like there was any way he would've _won_ it. Not with _this_ job.

I toss my phone on top of the jacket that has yet again been thrown carelessly over the desk chair, no longer interested — _or ever was_ — in the content it provides. 

Not wanting to delve into the inevitable anxiety Daniel has managed to sow into the lining of my stomach, I swing the bedroom door open and quickly walk down the hall. The floorboards creak underneath my feet, throwing any wish I had to leave quietly and without a word out the window. Should've walked slowly with _socks_ on, the pads of my shoes hitting the ground and giving away my whereabouts. As if on cue, heavier footsteps resound further behind me before I reach the stairs.

Should've just _run_ out. Cursing myself internally, I turn to face the noise before I actually _do_ run.

"Oh, Maeve, you look _pretty_ ," My mothers' voice rings out, her lips spread into a wide smile. Her eyes fall down my body, giving my outfit a once-over. If it wasn't for the little sparkle of doubt in her eyes, I would've thought she _meant_ what she said.

I bite my bottom lip hard, using the pain as a distraction from the sudden ache in my chest. 

_Don't be stupid, Maeve. We've always known she's never been very good at acting._

Instead of rolling my eyes at myself, I mimic her smile, feeling just as fake as she looks. My hands find the sides of the jeans I'm wearing and clench around the lining, bunching up the fabric unconsciously. The smell of excessive perfume radiates off her like an invisible cloud, causing my nose to cringe slightly. The two-meter distance between us offering no kind of barrier that could shield me from the borderline asthma-inducing amount of spray she applied. 

"Thanks...," I try to push some sort of gratitude in my voice, but the comment has caught me off guard. My _outfit_ was truly the _last_ thing on my mind.

Mother walks over to me, her hands reaching out to brush my hair behind my shoulders. There's hesitation in her touch like she's stumbling to figure out how a mother should act towards her daughter. 

_She probably is._

"So, where are you going out tonight?" Immediately I can tell how hard she's trying to act normal, her voice is trying to mimic one of calm and almost caring personality. It twists at the returning ache in my chest, one that never really leaves when she's near. 

I breathe out slowly, looking down at my shoes. Her words have poked at the self-consciousness I didn't even know was present, inflating the feeling of embarrassment that soon creeps into the forefront of my mind. It almost makes me forget my choice to wear this pair of shoes was as close to _mindless_ as you can get.

"To the, um, ... the movies," The nervousness in my voice comes from out of nowhere. I pinch at the side of my thigh for sounding so pathetic around her, my tongue exploring the grooves of my teeth as a distraction before I do something childish like stomp back into my room, slam the door shut, hide under the blankets on my bed and forget about the whole job.

 _You don't have to be so_ dramatic _, you know._

I fight off the urge to roll my eyes again, the frustration at myself simmering down to simple irritation. She's looking at me inquisitively, trying to find a lie in such a small amount of words. It's too bad for her that I've become more practised, although lying to _her_ and lying to _clients_ has been shown to be two _very_ distinct activities.

"And _who_ are you going with?" She reaches up again, tucking the curls that are too short to fall behind my shoulder behind my ear. She doesn't sound like she's pressing, there's some genuine curiosity in her voice.

"Just this boy," God, what is with me? _Looks like_ we're _not very good at acting either._ It's like a ball of nerves has made a home in my stomach, spiking out to my extremities and giving my hands a _twitch_ I could do without.

"A boy?,"

"Jack— his name's Jack," I stutter out before a barrage of questions begins rolling off her tongue. Her eyebrows perk up quickly, a knowing smirk tugging at the side of her lips. My cheeks start to burn and I feel my own mouth start to spread into an embarrassed smile. I bite my tongue to try and stop it, but it's already too late. 

"So... you're going on a... _date_?" She seems to be more surprised than I expected. I nod briefly, the nerves in my stomach forming into butterflies that make my cheeks heat up even more. It's not even _real_ and this is how I'm acting.

I clear my throat, hand running through my hair as an excuse to move.

"I _suppose_ ," I say quietly, unable to meet her eyes. Lying about a fake date somehow makes me feel even smaller in her eyes, the short laugh escaping her drawing out the ache in my chest again. 

"Well, we didn't know _that_ was possible," A small chuckle leaves her mouth, her hands running down my shoulders to hold onto my arms. I keep my gaze on the family portraits hanging from the walls, the family of three looking so _happy_ and content. 

My eyebrows furrow when her words actually reach me. 

"What do you mean?" I don't _really_ want to know the answer, but we've been pretending that we like each other for too long. 

It always ends like this. Us _behaving_ before one gets too comfortable in these foreign encounters and steps over the line. Well, mostly _she_ steps over the line with her poorly-masked insults and _I_ get the pleasure of choosing to either yell at her or let the words sink in until they're almost carved into my skin. I can't really _afford_ to be the one who takes it too far; one wrong word and she's crying, screaming about how having me was one of the biggest mistakes she ever made.

 _I have an idea of what would make her_ really _regret having us._

But we're not going to _think_ about that.

I try to shut that part of my brain off by looking at the family portraits again. There's got to be _some_ truth to the smile plastered on my younger face. _It hasn't always been like this, right?_ I would've been happy, felt loved and accepted by the two standing behind me at some point when that picture was taken, even if just for a split second. But the smile on my lips doesn't reach my eyes, an expression of myself in photos I've come all too familiar with.

A short tug of my hair brings me back to reality. My eyes find hers and it's like amusement has been written on her forehead, bottom lip between her teeth with another laugh daring to spill.

"Oh, sweetheart... _nothing,_ I just didn't know boys were _into_ someone like—,” Her eyes trail up and down my frame once more. "—this," She's transformed her expression to one that might resonate with fondness, but it twists into a look of pity when a couple of seconds pass. 

Before _she_ starts filling my head with images of the woman in front of me nursing a knife in her stomach—

_Oops!_

Mothers eyebrows drawn together in confusion makes me realise her lips hadn't moved after she told me it was nothing, though the words are being whispered in my ear. I look at her but the expression that contorts her face is one of slight disturbance like she can't quite put her finger on the emotion I'm holding onto. I thought she would've been able to guess because the anger that boils my blood seems to be setting my body into a frenzy, the only tell is my fists clenched until my knuckles turn white. A quick memory replays in my head, one of Daniel telling me he doesn't like the look in my eyes when I'm like this, says he doesn't trust it.

"I'm going to be late," I say, pulling myself out of her grip with a short step back. My legs carry me down the stairs before guilt finds a cosy spot in my chest and forces me to stay with her. I don't bother looking back to see if she's moved, I already know she's watching every move I make before I disappear into the kitchen.

I quickly pull a glass from the cabinet, going to the sink and turning the tap, watching as water fills the glass. The flowing and subtle splashing drift my mind to the situation at hand. I still have 50 minutes until I have to leave, but there's a tug at my stomach trying to lead me out the door sooner. The feeling keeps switching from excessive energy to the unmasked anxiety every couple of moments, and every-so-often I question if I really should be going, but something about this particular job has me _excited_. Suddenly my shoulders feel too light and I groan at the realisation I've left my jacket hanging over the chair in my room.

Leaving the full glass in the sink, I make my way upstairs quietly to ensure Mother doesn't think she has to interact with me again. My head already feels fuzzy from the last act, the idea of putting on another has me feeling drained. My jacket is where I left it, and when I drape it over my shoulders, it's hardly weighed down by the contents of its pockets.

The once-peaceful glow around my room has turned into a cold blue, the suns influence disappearing into what now marks the beginning of the night. It used to scare me, how the darkness masks everything and almost completely blinds you from your surroundings, but the daylight wasn't exactly _useful_ for the vague jobs Daniel and I had to do for a little side money. Well, side money that has almost become the only money both of us are making. At first, it was to help Daniel's family out without them knowing, but we quickly became too interested in that whole world. _As long as we don't get in too deep_ , Daniel used to say at the start.

But for some reason, this job feels different. A small one and the pay isn't _much_ , but Daniel had said it's more of a _favour_ to a _friend_. His effort to keep me out of it has definitely set off alarm bells in my head, made _me_ a little suspicious of what exactly all this is about, but I'm the only one out of the two of us who can and _has_ fully delivered the task. Not _fully_ , but the _drop-off_ is soon. A couple of _ruffles_ and _clatters_ emerge from my jacket as I step down the stairs quickly, forcing me to grip the pockets from the outside to stop any noise in case Mother's listening and getting _suspicious._

"Maeve?" I can't hold in the annoyed sigh that leaves my lips as I just reach the front door. My hand falls away from the doorknob briefly as I turn towards her call.

"Yes?" My voice rings out. _Something_ possessing my voice because my mind was _set_ on keeping it nice and monotone.

Next, I hear footsteps descending at the stairs.

"Be safe," The footsteps stop before they reach the last two steps, but I can still feel her presence. My stomach twists slightly in anticipation.

I hear a quick sigh from behind the wall that blocks us from seeing each other. 

I grip the doorknob again, twisting it and stepping outside with a quick hum of a melody I didn't know was stuck in my head. The stench from the apartment complex hits me without any precaution. I should be used to it by now, but the evidence of outsides quick weather change is written on the floor with muddy footprints climbing the stairs. I tug the jacket zip up, covering my frame with its shape-erasing structure.

I let my legs drag me in the opposite direction the muddy footprints lead, pinching my nose the further I descend down the flights of stairs. The cold air dares to make the hair on my legs stand tall, goosebumps covering my entire body as my mind becomes absent from the repetitiveness of going from the fifth story to ground level. Rain pours outside the front entrance to the apartment complex, forcing me to pull the hood of my jacket over my head as I push the glass door open. My hands go to my pockets, feeling for the crumpled-up pieces of paper and my phone that sporadically buzzes. 

The buzzing doesn't let up the entire trip to the Narrows, but as I watch as the buildings turn into abandoned warehouses, I find a sense of gratitude towards Daniels borderline obsessive worrying.

* * *

The air has become colder once the sun disappeared behind the tall buildings of Gotham, my hands stuffed in my pockets as I wait idly. Not many people walk past, all avoiding eye contact as I watch them, hand clutching at the small chunk of sharp metal in case any make quick movements towards me. They probably all know I'm waiting, that this is some kind of meet up - why would someone be waiting at the corner of an alleyway, in the _Narrows_ , for any other reason?

The darkness surrounds everything the dim streetlights can't reach, almost swallowing parts of the streets and alleyways whole. The weak luminosity strains to meet my frame, stretching out to the building wall across from me, creating a subdued glow through the back street. 

A hand taps my shoulder and I nearly jump out of my skin, stifling a scream as I quickly turn towards him. His hand grabs my wrist before I realise I've drawn my knife out as a source of protection, squeezing and twisting it inwards, his other hand taking advantage of the loose grip I have to yank the metal from my hand. I nearly cry out in pain, but the grip he has on my wrist releases.

"Not a very nice way to _greet_ your _clients_ ," He mocks, my eyes finding his face to glare. The streetlight hardly reaches him, casting shadows that deepen the dark circles under his eyes, hardening the slight amusement written across his mouth.

My wrist aches, but it's dull, easing each time I rub it gently. I clench my jaw, all previous excitement for this job dispelled as soon as he nearly broke my wrist.

He rolls his eyes, clearly bored with my silence. The quick desire to insult him is on the tip of my tongue, but he waves my knife in his hands as if to warn me like he knows where my mind was going. Biting my tongue, I continue to watch him as he drops his hands to his sides, head cocking to the side.

"Do you _have_ what I asked?" Traces of malice spike out of his voice, showcasing his depleting patience as he looks at me expectantly.

"It's in my pocket," I say bluntly, but I give no sign of moving, just watching the twitchy movements of his hands, the one with the knife holding it too easily.

His eyebrows pump up, hands coming up then dropping as he continues to wait. I feel too heavy to move, his eyes holding down some kind of anchor on me, but as I look into them, strange confidence builds up out of nowhere and I use it to speak.

"Did you bring t-the money?" Unease becomes prominent in my voice, but it's the best I can do in this state he has me in. His tap on the shoulder and nearly breaking my wrist act has the pent up adrenaline I had just from being in the Narrows into a physical being that possesses my body, shivers and twitches running down my spine.

His shoulders relax a little, his free hand going behind his back, reaching into a pocket as a heavy sigh deflates his chest.

" _Here_ ," He says, waving the small stack of money in front of my face and causing me to flinch back slightly. "y'happy now?"

I reach up to take it from him, but he draws it back quickly, a smile tugging the corner of his lips. 

"Ah ah, the _goods_ , plea _se_ ," His voice seems so cheery, so hyperactive and out of place for a man that looked so _angry_ before. The feeling that manifested in the pit of my stomach when I first laid eyes on him is fear-inducing, the curve of his lips and any sense of joy he may have doesn't transpire to his eyes, leaves them cold and dark, stone-like with traces of anger.

My hands finally find the strength to reach into my pockets, retrieving the crumpled up pieces of paper and handing it to him, but the motion is cut short when he snatches them from my grasp, almost ripping the paper in half. His eyes follow the scribbled lines of writing, ensuring no piece of information is missing as he erupts with hums of approval. The papers are quickly stuffed into his pocket, and I begin panicking that he'll leave without paying. A noise of urgency escapes me and I step forward before he makes a getaway.

"Ah, lets not-," He counters by shoving the knife against my torso, letting the sharp edge remind me of the power he has in the situation. "Let's not get _too_ excited," I step back and he follows, a condescending frown on his face, contradicting the giggles that seem to explode from him, clutching at the uncertainty that courses through my veins. Every move he's made, every word that has come out of his mouth strikes me in a way I'm not used to, the fear coiled in my stomach thriving in such conditions. 

_Be careful_. Daniel's voice in my head seems to plead me, beg me not to do anything that could mark me as a threat, but quick flashes of pulling out a knife on the man in front of me and making quick movements towards him convince me it's already too late. He was right, I shouldn't have been the one to pass over the information. Daniel _told_ me it wouldn't be safe, that the man pressing the blade into my torso enough for my breathing to cease completely, was little _out_ of it. I can see in his eyes that slicing my flesh wouldn't bother him in the _slightest_.

 _Then prove you're not a threat_.

I hold my body as still as I can, watching the tall man stare into my eyes, reading my next move. Drawing the knife away from my stomach, he reaches into his back pocket again and pulls out the money, yanking my hand away from my body to stuff the notes in my palm. His grip on my wrist doesn't let up though, and he makes no movements of releasing, he just stands there, squeezing my wrist and staring into my eyes again. The anger is back, but I'm fairly sure it never left, a constant in his eyes.

I try to yank my hand back when the knife comes into view, but his grip becomes stronger, holding me in place. He rests the blade against the veins of my wrist, daring to put even the slightest pressure to slice through the flesh. One eyebrow perks up, asking me to call his bluff.

" _You don't scare me_ , _"_ My voice sounds strong for the feeling of utter panic feeding into my bones, my bottom lip shaking as I try to hold off a sob. He scoffs, clearly reading through my words.

Before I have a chance to fully register the threat of being cut, he drops my hand completely. The relief comes from the uncoiling of the fear and anticipation that had my stomach clenched in a tight ball, deep breaths escaping me as I unconsciously draw a few steps away from him.

"You know... _you_ were the one to pull the knife out on _me_ ," I'm not looking at him, but I can see through my peripheral that he's nodding. "We both know you can't do that without there being any, uh, _consequences._ "

I glance up at him to find he's smiling down at me again, but it's not friendly, he looks _proud_ of himself. He _wanted_ to show me the power he had as if I had doubted it; he needed to _prove_ he was in control. And for some reason, I feel stupid. He only had my _hand_ and I was scared as if he was pressing the blade into my throat. He knows this, too, I can see it in his eyes.

"If it makes you feel... better," He takes a step towards me, his chin dipping. I can't see where the knife is, but I can't tear myself from looking away from his face either. The hazel orbs begin to anchor me again, drawing me in with each word that plays off his lips. "No one can _deal_ with knives anymore, they're more comfortable with a _gun_."

_Jesus christ. Does he have a gun on him?_

His high-pitched chuckles penetrate the space between us as fear warps my expression, digging into my stomach and luring its contents to the back of my throat. He's laughing as if threatening to kill me was a _joke_.

Why don't you just _listen_? Daniel knew how to act towards this _psycho_ and you thought you knew better. You're going to get shot or stabbed because of this and you can't blame anyone but yourself.

He takes another step closer, fear igniting my body with the urgency to _run_ before my back crashes into the wall behind me. The air abandons my lungs when he looms over me, eyes full of intrigue and excitement as he traps my body between him and the building. 

" _E_ _asy_ , that's for sure. But you know wha- _t_?" I flinch back at his voice, he's so close his breath feathers over my face. I look to the side, tears clouding my vision as I try to find anything that will distract me from the constant spill of thoughts portraying my murder. "Hey, look at me," His hand is already around my jaw, tearing my eyes away from the one visible streetlight to his soul-consuming eyes. 

"They're too _quick_. Learnt _that_ the hard way," He begins to giggle again, chest rumbling with joy at a joke only he understands. "I like to _savour_ those moments with people, and by your little—," A quick glint of light catches my eye, he's got the blade in his hand again, bringing it closer to my face. "uh, _toy_ , ... I know _you_ do too,"

" _No—_ ," My breath hitches in my throat, choking on a sob that desperately wants to make an exit, but I can't let it. I don't know what he _really_ means, but I know it's nothing good, it's something I don't want to understand. One sob will turn into an unmitigated panic attack, I can already feel the heaviness in my chest, clutching at my throat from the inside.

 _Stop, he just told you he_ likes _this. You're giving him exactly what he wants._

A quiet whimper almost binds me to complete surrender to the man staring down at me, but the hold on my lungs eases off. Instead, there's a modest haze that gently coats my vision. It lightens the image set in front of me, brushing off the sharp edges of shadows, basking us in a warm glow. The mist obscures him as well, dark and harsh eyes softening, jaw unclenched and relaxed. The harsh bags under his eyes disappear, and soon he's almost unrecognisable. But I feel safe now. The shadows don't hold any demons, the one I thought was going to kill me, he's not like that. He _wouldn_ _'t_ do that.

"You don't have to hide it," His voice is soft, lulling me further into the haze, drawing the sheet over my head to conceal my deprived reality, tearing it away from my grasp.

The blow of cold air feathers over my body, slowly pulling the veil from my eyes, but the movement stops when his voice stretches out to meet me.

"I'd help you explore it on more, uh, _extreme_ levels, but lucky for _you_ , I've got _plans_ for someone else." His nodding is reassuring, propelling the motion onto myself in a sort of agreement.

"What are you going to do?" My voice seems to leave me before I can stop it, something tells me I should be careful of what I ask, but I don't remember why. There was fear, the alleyway was dark and cold, a man pressing a knife into my stomach, the man standing over me right now, eyes digging into my soul—

"I've already told you, there are _consequences_ for your actions," His voice spikes out, abandoning the soft words he spoke before. "This guy— he, uh, drew the _short straw_ ,"

The cold air hits me again, but this time it clings to my frame, wrapping itself around my limps and sending shivers through my body. The shockwaves reignite the fear that buried itself in the pit of my stomach, the small embers bursting into a fire with enough force that it hardens my vision. The haze drops immediately, dull blurs tuning into excruciating detail as reality begins to unfold itself. 

His words seem to knock into me, forming into a gruesome scene that fills my mouth with bile. I wish I didn't know what he meant, but I can see the scene playing in his head as well. Anger and amusement somehow share the look in his eyes, contorting his face in a disturbing smile. I don't know him at all but something inside me _knows_ he's going to kill someone tonight.

My mind immediately goes to all the information I gave him on those pieces of paper. Addresses, phone numbers, daily schedules— he'll use them to get to the person.

"Some people _deserve_ the short straw," He says as if I'm writing my thoughts in the air for him to read freely. He turns his head slightly to the side, his eyes warning me not to press, so I don't. My lips stay closed, but I give a quick nod to somehow ward off the intensity in his eyes. _I'm not a threat_ , I say over and over in my head, hoping it will become apparent on my expression. 

It seems to be enough because he dips away from me, allowing air to breathe through my lungs again. 

"I'll see you _around_ ," It sounds more like a promise than a goodbye, but the fear coiling in my stomach tells me not to read into it. There's only so much I can deal with in one night, he's pushed me to my threshold and he's acting like it was _nothing_. 

He disappears around the corner of the building onto the main street, leaving the darkness to swallow me whole like he nearly did. With him gone I feel exhaustion creep into my bones, heaviness greeting my eyelids as I step away from the wall I was desperately seeking refugee against. But there's something else. A spike of interest that whispers in my ear, demanding to lead me down the trail he's taking. 

_Are you insane? He's going to kill someone._

My heart feels like it's sitting in my throat, the pulses of blood sending shockwaves that cause my body to tremble. Though in this fear, I can feel the dizziness again. The haze is hardly obstructing my vision, but it's taking my hand and moving my legs, bathing me in the dim lights that line the street edges. The footpath is jagged, daring to trip me over with the uneven concrete that sticks upwards.

I can see him up ahead, the hood of his sweatshirt covering the blonde ash of his hair. He's walking fast, but the haze keeps leading me to him, eager for some sort of prize if I catch him.

_Does it want me to save the person?_

Maybe that's it. The voice doesn't whisper such sanity, but this is the only reasonable answer that lets the haze drag me forward. It grips onto any decency left in my body and nearly yanks it out of me. 

My legs grow tired from keeping a pace that keeps him just far enough that he won't see me. The Narrows seems to form into a maze, but instead of getting out, he's leading me deeper, forcing me to forget how I'll ever escape. 

The street lights don't offer any safe haven anymore, if anything, they're confirming the fears that begin to creep in. It's then that I realise I'm no longer walking along a footpath, I'm standing in a foyer, in front of a flight of stairs that look like they'll snap under the slightest of pressure. I can't see him anywhere, and the sound of footsteps don't echo through the small building. 

_You need to focus or he'll kill you too. Just find out where he's going and call the police._

The eerie silence twists at the shadows of the staircase, every nerve in my body are telling me to run away and forget this night happened. I push down the almost-overbearing sense of terror coursing through my veins and slowly creep up the stairs, hand holding the rail for support. Every few steps I stop, breathing as quietly as I can while listening for any kind of movement that isn't my own. 

My palms quickly become slick with sweat, hands shaking with each step I take. When I reach the first floor, I catch the railing just in time before my legs nearly give in underneath me, pushing myself up. I'm nearly able to stand up completely before everything becomes blurred, my back slamming against something and all air leaves my body.

My vision blacks out for a moment, hands flying up to the pressure beginning to build around my neck. Constriction comes through in waves, tightening until I think I'll never breathe again, that my head will explode from the pressure, then it eases off just enough for a gasp of air to enter my burning lungs. I don't realise my body is being shaken until the coughing stops. My back and head are slammed against the wall once more, a sharp pain erupting in the crest of my skull, my throat stinging from the scream the pain causes to rip from me.

"Why are you _following_ me, hm?" The gruff voice hits my face with only a slight taste of anger, but the hold he has on my neck speaks greater truths. "Did you want the, ah, little _lesson_ after all? Want to know how much _fun_ you can have with a _knife_?"

I can feel the wiry muscles in his forearm tense as I latch onto it, nails digging in as if to beg him to let me _breathe_. The blood my nails have summoned leak from his arm, but he doesn't seem to flinch, the heinous smile on his lips only widens.

 _He's a_ demon.

If he wasn't cutting off my ability to breathe as sporadically as he is, breaking down into a pile of sobbing mess wouldn't have been too far away. All my mind can think of right now is holding onto him. If my grip on his arm falters, he's going to choke me to _death_.

"Y'have the guts to almost _stabbing_ me, _stalking_ me, but you can't _answer_ a _simple_ , little question," The pitch of his voice shoots up, sending sudden shivers down my spine despite the searing heat of his closeness. 

"I-I didn't _mean_ t-to—," He squeezes again, watching as I choke on my words.

"Ah— I don't like _liars_." The pressure he has on my throat begins to build again, drawing out strangled cries. "Do you need me to make the, ah, decision _for_ you?"

His eyes pierce into my soul for a split second before he transfers his tight grip to my jaw, almost crushing it before he moves it up and back, nodding my head for me.

"Hm, that's what I thought!" He completely withdraws back, his eyes following my body as it collapses to the ground. The drop sends a sharp jolt through my body before sizzling out to a dull ache, the burning in my lungs not subsiding no matter how many deep breaths I swallow.

I barely have the time to register what's going on before he's closing in again, crouching down to my level. His hand brushes away the strands of hair that cover my face, tucking them behind my ear. The sudden tenderness of his touch nearly giving me whiplash.

"Now, if your _report_ is correct, that means we have an _hour_ to play with Mr Owens before his Mrs gets home,"

_Why is his voice so gentle?_

However, whatever _act_ he's put on is short-lasted when his fingers dig into my bicep, yanking me up so quickly the light-headedness that follows nearly provokes me to topple over again.

"We've got to hurry— time goes quickly when you're having _fun_ ," He says with a giddy laugh. 

His grasp on my arm doesn't let up, he's more concerned with dragging me up the stairs, forcing to match his long-stride steps up to the third story of the building. Scraping my knees of the rough boards of every step I fail to place my foot on, they quickly begin to burn from the layers of skin being torn off.

My breathing becomes ragged, limbs almost not working completely by the time he drops me at the end of the flight of stairs. I can see in the corner of my eye that he's walking quietly down the hall, feet barely making a single sound against the old floorboards, but I can't bring myself to care. My lungs feel like they're being ripped from my body, little spikes sticking out on the inside of my throat, every excruciating breath a reminder of his cruelness.

My first thought is that the ground is getting pulled from underneath me before I realise he's yanking me up again.

"I need you to get him to open the door," He whispers in my ear, the blow of air making me cringe as far away as he'll let me. "Can you do that for me?"

The churning in my stomach caused by his sudden gentleness makes me feel sick, but quick flashes of what he'll do if I try _anything_ except nodding has me suppressing the bile that involuntarily climbs up my throat. He seems pleased with that, looping his arm with mine and pulling me down the hall.

He stops in front of a door, positioning me to face it before he goes off to the side, resting his back against the wall to watch me. Motioning towards the door with a quick raise of his eyebrows, I focus on my own self-preservation to summon the strength to knock on the door.

 _Couldn't deal with being the only one suffering tonight, could_ _you?_

Quiet shuffling can be heard from behind the door before a tired voice calls out.

"What is it?" Annoyance is hiding in their voice, though their tiredness almost masks it completely.

The words Jack gave me flow out as guilt makes a nest in my stomach, but I can't work up the courage — or even _find_ it — to stand up to him. All I can do is bask in self-pity as the door in front of me opens, the guilt coiling my heart in a tight knot when I see the look in the man's eyes, oblivious to what's about to happen.

On cue, Jack pushes off the wall and pounces into the apartment, my vision blocked by his back as he forces himself into the man's home. I quickly follow, closing the front door behind me with some sick sense of wanted privacy.

It's like I'm not here, not mentally, anyway. My body's just dragging me along, following the panicked shuffling and clangs of Jack accidentally — or for the fun of it — running the man's back into furniture. I find Mr Owen being thrown on the couch, his eyes full of terror, and he's about to scream for help, for _anyone_ to save him, but Jack has a knife to his throat before he can make a sound.

"I think you've done enough _talking_ ," Jack's voice sounds grave, full of more malice than I'd heard the entire night. He presses the blade against the man's throat and drawing blood, a thrilling laugh escaping him like a child opening their first Christmas gift.

" _Jesus Christ, I-I didn't do nothin' like that, Jack, I—,”_ The man continues, his voice descending into a panicked plea as Jack looks over to me, his hand still holding the blade to the man's throat, and rolls his eyes.

I don't know how to react, my mind has gone blank from tonight's circumstances. I feel numb, no matter how many times I dig my nails into the palms of my hands. My breathing is shallow, barely there. 

_What is_ happening _?_

"Would you be a _dear_ and, ah, hand me that scarf?" Jack says, briefly pointing to the corner of the room. My eyes follow the motion, landing on a bright purple scarf that's been thrown over the cloak-hanger. 

My feet carry me, and I let them. At least there's some part of me that's working, knows what to do to avoid being killed by the demon in this room. Everything's merging together, I can tell because I can't remember picking the scarf up and handing it to him, but as soon as his hand brushes against mine to grab it, a jolt is sent up my spine, a plea for my mind to return. 

_Just focus on_ _surviving._

But it's like the jolt does nothing, leaving my body stranded, to fend for itself. The look in Jack's eyes do more than any shock of electricity could ever hope to, but with it, they bring immense fear that will crack my bones under the pressure. And I can see he wants to see how far he can push me until they _do_ crack; before my mind truly leaves without any promise of coming back.

He grabs my arm, pulling me closer and forcing my hand to hold the knife slicing into the man's neck. The absence of Jack's merciless pressure, Mr Owen's voice pick up where it left off, instincts jerking the blade away from him before a hand goes over mine, reapplying the pressure.

"Hold it nice and _snug_ so he doesn't get any, ah, _wrong ideas_ ," Jack murmurs beside me, causing my shoulder to come up to my ear in a cringe.

I hold the blade with a tight grip, but the body-wide trembling doesn't let up, sending more shocks of electricity whenever he hisses at a new cut I've created. I can barely tear my eyes away from the blood that begins trickling down his neck as Jack ties the scarf around Mr Owen's wrists, purposely tying it too tightly like he wants Mr Owen's hands to match the scarf.

He grabs the knife from my grasp, careless of the potential threat that holds over Mr Owen's throat, placing a hand on my shoulder before pushing me away from the couch. I stumble back, nearly falling over the glass coffee table behind me. 

" _Now—_ ," Jack announces, taking ahold of the man's collar and dragging him to sit upright, the movement of the blade drawing out hisses. "We both know why I'm here, don't we?"

They both stare at each other as silence spreads through the room like a suffocating cloud. One is thriving, drinking in the blatant terror in the other's eyes, enjoying every second of the other's suffering. I can't see them, but I know Jack has the pleased look in his eyes when he almost slit my wrist open.

"Mm-hmm," He hums to himself, nodding for the terrorised man. "And we both know exactly what's going to happen to you."

A short laugh follows another hum, ending the note with paralysing dread.

I don't want to be here, to watch something my mind still can't wrap itself around, truly understand the events transpiring this very second. It can't be real, _how_ can this be real? Things like this don't _happen_. This is a story that ends up on the news, it can't be happening to _in front_ of me. 

Fear is controlling every nerve in my body, shutting down every organ one by one until I'm empty, completely void of anything alive. I can feel myself disappearing, my body is a shell, my skin a protective layer so no one can get to me. The numbness keeps sinking, though, passing through each barrier I try to put up so I don't lose myself, but it's no use. It's cutting the edges of everything I see, drawing me away from reality. Because it can't be real, can it? It just a bad dream, nothing can hurt me.

He _can hurt you._

But he hasn't. Not yet. He could've sliced my flesh open, watch all of my blood drain out, creating a pool around my body. But he didn't, he's trying to _teach_ me something and I'm not _listening_. I can hear murmurs, a distant voice talking, but it sounds like it's in another room, calling out to me. I try to concentrate, to pull myself back, but the string between my body and my mind is severed. I'm just rocking back and forth, drawing to sleep.

"I need you to _focus_ , Maeve," The voice is closer now, clearer. It grabs the broken ends of the string, working with what it has and tying a tight knot. My shoulders are so warm, almost burning, and when I can truly see what's in front of me, I realise he's holding them, jerking me back and forth. 

"What's wrong?" The words slip out of my mouth, but I don't cut them off.

_Does he need help?_

He smiles down at me, eyes softening. I can feel my hair being played with, but I'm slipping away again, retracting back into the shell.

"Just _watch_ and _listen_." He takes a step away from me, taking all of the warmth with him. I urge my body to let me, keep the knot tied. 

"People are very _easy_ to understand, Maeve," He says, waving a blade in front of him. "They're _selfish_ , willing to do give up _anything_ to save their own _skin_ ," He throws an arm around the man's shoulders, ruffling him sideways like they're old friends. "Don't they, _Brian_?"

The smile on Jack's face begins to leave, a sense of confusion washing over me when I realise I've been smiling with him. Something tells me I shouldn't be, but I don't want to listen.

"They'll use you, Maeve," I'm drawn to his voice, every word he speaks is like falling on soft silk cushions. "Like Brian used _me_. That's not very nice, is it?"

I shake my head.

 _Why would he use Jack like that?_

He smiles warmly, and I feel it spread through my chest.

"Y'wanna know _why_ little, old Brian sold me out? _Hm_?" He presses the blade to the man's neck again, but it's gentle, the knife won't cut him. There aren't any sharp edges, everything is soft and quiet here. No one can get hurt.

"Why?" I ask, my feet carrying me to the couch where I can sit. I welcome how the cushions press into my body but fall with it, holding me in an embrace. The man sits in between Jack and I, but I can hardly notice him over the nice light that seems to stem from Jack.

"He did it for _money_ ," The word sounds so sour it almost makes me cringe back.

Something in the back of my head is screaming at me, begging me to realise what's going on. But I do, don't I? He's trying to teach me, to help me learn.

_Don't listen to him._

"Wanted to make a, ah, quick _buck_ and leave me for _dead_ ," His voice lulls me back to the warmth that almost left. "They'll do that to you, Maeve, _every time_."

The depth his voice reaches within me, pulling the quiet thoughts of doubt to the forefront until it's all I hear, pulling the veil shielding my eyes to reveal the bleak reality Everything comes back, but I don't want it to. The blood that covers Mr Owen's body is unlike anything I've ever seen. My stomach twists in an instant and I have no control when I throw up over the edge of the couch, squeezing my eyes shut in denial. Hot tears burn down my cheeks, loud sobbing escaping my throat and shaking my whole body.

Warm hands cradle my face, lifting it up from my lap. I let it, but something doesn't feel right. Everywhere Jack touches is sticky and warm, his hands and forearms covered in dark red. I try to pull away, but one hand on the back of my neck keeps me where he wants.

"Sh, sh. Hey, it's alright," His voice is soft, and I can feel my body trying to give in, but I'll lose myself if I let it. "We've got each other, _hm_? Nothing can hurt you,"

He wipes the tears from my cheeks, drawing lines of blood all over. The fear is dull, but everything stays sharp and clear.

"Really?" I hear myself whisper, desperation driving me places I don't want to go.

"Mm-hmm," He hums back, releasing his grip on my neck and jaw to hold my hands. "As long as we stick _together_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SO sorry, this took me so long to finish! I may have gone a little overboard but there was so much to cover in this chapter!  
> I just want to say a huge thank you to @LadyOfTheSea for all her help, this chapter would not be out without her!  
> I hope you all enjoy this and leave feedback/thoughts if you can!


	4. Can You Really Escape?

The air grows colder and colder each passing second he’s gone, but I find that I welcome it. The chill that numbs the tips of my fingers and keeps me from doing anything but shivering, is also the one that reminds me of his absence. How I want the cold to stay, just so I know I’m alone. 

His presence, it’s like the carpet has been pulled from under my feet. I can’t trust myself around him. I can’t trust the images that reach my eyes, the temperature that coats my body, or the sounds that seep into my ears. It’s all contorted. Deformed in a sick beauty that had me wrapped up in a fantasy world for so many years. 

My jaw still aches from when he squeezed it harshly, holding it in place and leaning so far forward that our noses almost touched. The repulsion is still there, too, from when he spoke and his breath feathered across my face.

‘ _I have to go_ out, _little May May. Sh sh, I’ll be back before you know it. You just stay nice and, uh,_ tied up _while I’m gone, hm?’_

His words are still ringing in my head, repeating themselves over and over again, though the room has been silent for a while now. Only filled with distant voices from outside, muffled by the heavy, steel door. 

The ropes holding my arms to the armrests burn whenever I make the slightest movement, twisting my skin until it begins to tear. I ignore the panic truly settling in my stomach. There’s no time to think about the implications of seeing him again, or how he told me he wanted to get _her_ out of me. But what truly sends my heart into a panicked frenzy is the fact that he was gone for so long, gave me years to suppress her, lock her away in the depths of my mind, for him to just take the key from his pocket and open the door. 

Even now, after he left, I can feel her peeking out— she _has_ been peeking out, and he knows it. To keep it to myself, be able to ignore the violent whispers she constantly whirls around my head, I can deal with that. But the gentle— _sick_ fantasy she creates whenever _he's_ around, is enough to want to curl inwards and try to forget every decision that has led me here.

There’s a strange trickling sensation running down my neck before I realize I’ve started crying. The hot tears burn my flesh, quick flashes of his face always reminding me I’m never safe, that he’ll be here, haunting me without being physically here. He probably knows it as well, gets a good chuckle out of sending me into a downward spiral of paranoia and terror. But it isn’t just the _humor_ of it all that keeps him coming back, he _wants_ to always be here with me, to not let me have an inch of life where his blood-coated hands haven’t been. 

I try to curl inwards, forcing any thoughts of his intentions out before they grow beyond my control. The ropes chafe my forearms, peeling off layers of skin and gripping the raw skin underneath.

‘ _Why did you leave me?’_

The voice that plays shocks me. It’s not his harsh, spiking tone; it’s my own. But it doesn’t really sound like me. The voice is softer, tender with a pool of sadness that becomes deeper, drowning by the last words. 

It sounds so _real_ that there’s no way a video isn’t playing, no way her voice could come through like that. He wouldn’t have left if he wanted me to watch the videos he took, he’d want to watch every tick in my expression, every emotion that was caused by him. 

‘ _You said you’d stay forever_ ’ 

The sound draws out, echoing off the walls, becoming quiet whispers until I know there’s nothing real about it. 

_Are you sure there’s_ nothing _real about it?_

Gentle murmuring breaks out, taking ahold of the voices that my mind made up and stringing them to images of Joker in front of me, my head held tenderly by his hands as he looks almost sorry for what he’d down. The images don’t stay. They quickly whisked away as fast as they were brought back to my memory. 

Trying to shake the last splotches of the flashback from my vision, the burning sensation tearing up my forearms feel like they’re close to ripping off flesh. I try to flee from the pain, digging my heels into the ground to push myself away. I _know_ it’s useless, but the panic, the pressing desire to get as far away as possible is the only thing running through my head.

_He’s going to be back soon. He’ll see you tried to escape._

The voice that tries to make me stop my desperate — but useless — attempt to flee, only sends me into a deeper, more urgent scramble to find a way out of these ropes and chains. With the cold, metal chair legs scraping against the concrete floor, the room is filled with harsh screeching. But I don’t care about the noise, I can hardly hear it over the panicked thoughts yelling in my head.

A high-pitched creek comes from across the room, suddenly everything is silent. My mind is empty, body completely still with my eyes trained on the door, not daring to even blink. 

“St— please, stop… H-he’s gonna get _m_ ad,” A soft, jittery voice comes through the crack in the steel door.

 _Why do you want to_ leave?

The guilt that begins flooding into my bloodstream is numbed, filtered out and stuffed into a little box before I can register it’s even there. I need to get out of here, that’s my only excuse for what I’m about to do. He’ll kill me otherwise, even if he said he only wants to draw _her_ out.

“I just need a little _help_ ,” I don’t know how he’ll buy it, I haven’t heard my voice sound like that in a long time. “ _Please_ ,” There’s no pleading tone that I can hear, she’s twisted it to reflect herself.

I almost think she’s purposely thrown a wrench in my plans before I watch the door open wider, revealing a scrawny, short man that looks like he’s experiencing more panic than I’ve felt my entire life.

“W-what’s wrong?” He asks, looking over his shoulder quickly. 

“The ropes— they’re too _tight_ , they’re _hurting_ me,” I struggle against them, drawing out a hiss through my teeth. “I just need you to loosen them, just a little,”

He looks at me suspiciously, but can’t hide the step he was going to take towards me before he stops himself.

“He’ll- he won’t _like_ that- He’ll get _angry_ at me—,”

“ _Please_ , they’re cutting into my skin!” 

The clogs tick over in his brain, his eyes filling with the inner battle of empathy and fear.

“I shouldn’t—,” He takes a quick step backward. “I’m not a-allowed to be _in_ here,” He’s panicking. Whatever the Joker told him, the consequences are playing out in his mind. There’s no doubt he’s seen what Joker does to people when instructions aren’t played out _exactly_ how he wants them to.

Panic spreads across his face, draining all color like he’s seen a ghost— presumably his own once Joker’s done with him.

“ _Please_ ,” There’s an edge in my voice, daring to crack and break down into desperate sobs. More flashes of what Joker will do when he gets back flood my mind. There’s no other option, I _have_ to get out of here. “It _hurts_. Just— _please_ , loosen the ropes,”

With a pang of guilt — or whatever he’s capable of feeling — the young man hurries over to where I am, hands going to the knots tied on one side of the chair. The rope becomes tighter before loosening enough that pulling my forearm towards my body doesn’t result in any other skin layers being torn off. 

The panic isn’t making him think straight. I can see he wants to do what’s right, that _somehow_ Joker has convinced him that whatever work they’re doing is going to _help_ people.

My right forearm is completely free from the rope before he realises what’s going on. The guilt is back, but I can only feel little stings of it when I grab the back of his neck and yank his head as hard as I can towards the metal armrest, his nose smashing into the metal with a loud _crack._

His kneeling form crumbles to the ground quietly, the room falling silent once again. My free hand goes over to find the knots on the other armrest, pulling at certain bits of the same rope before it becomes looser, leading me to the main knot and untying itself under my quick tugs and yanking.

The chains bite into my shoulder when I try to rotate it, any resistance against them causes it to tighten. Twists in the chain pinch at my skin, daring me to make any big movements, an excuse to rip chunks of my skin off as the ropes had done.

_See? It’s useless._

Her voice isn’t harsh like it usually is. It’s soft, gentle, lulling me into a false sense of security as _his_ voice does. And, as if it’s him talking, I want to listen. There’s a part of me that wants to stop fighting, to give in. 

It would be easy, too. Any resistance to whatever _he_ wants is only met with pain. He’s made that clear before. He’s not going to stop until this whole self-indulgent mission is complete. 

Leaving now _is_ useless.

— _No._ I can’t think like that. I need to get out of here.

My eyes scan around the room, ignoring the bile that rises to my throat from the deathly stench oozing from the old and new blood dripping down the walls and pooling at the floor, or the blood flowing out of the young mans’ nose as he lies unconscious on the floor. I _try_ to, at least. There’s a table in the corner, bloodstains coating that surface as well. My vision is hazy from the painful hits he generously bestowed across my face, but the objects come in and out of focus. 

The camera he used — god, it feels like a _lifetime_ ago — is sitting on the table, along with a couple of knives, ones that are still coated with a thin layer of blood. It churns my stomach, and I have to swallow back the burning acid that builds its way up my throat again. 

The sound that erupts through the room when I shuffle the chair a few inches towards the table nearly makes me scream in fear, hot tears burning down my cheeks as I bite my split lip. 

My eyes — the whole right side of my face — aches with sharp throbs every-so-often. I’m shaking, my whole body going into quick spasms as I take another shuffle forward.

They’re going to hear me; whoever's outside will contact Joker and I’ll wish I was dead when he returns. But it doesn’t stop me. Panic is coursing through my veins, pleading me to use whatever energy I have left to flee. I _have_ to get out of here. There’s no other option. 

The screeching of the chair legs being dragged across the concrete floor is quietest when I only shuffle forward an inch at a time. I give myself long breaks, careful not to raise suspicion. The minutes it takes to reach the table feels like an hour has gone past, my heart ready to give out with the constant panic feeding into it. 

My teeth bite into my bottom lip hard, stifling a pained groan that escapes me as I reach to grab the thinnest knife. The aching in my shoulders quickly feels like burning throbs that are about to snap when I try to position my arms to work on the small padlock hanging just below my sternum. 

My wrists scream at the awkward position I force them into, the knife in one hand with the other holding the padlock firmly in place. The shaking doesn’t stop as well, intensifying when the knife feels like it won’t go through. 

_There’s no_ use. _Stay here with him._

A sob escapes my lips and I almost drop the knife, catching it by pressing my thighs together tightly. 

_Just give in. He’ll be back soon anyway. He’ll see what you’ve done._

No. I can’t stop. With aching arms, I reach for the knife again, the chains pinching at my skin and drawing a hiss out of me. My wrists plead for rest, but I can’t. I need to get out of here while I still can.

The knife slips in easier this time, a sigh deflating my chest with a breath I didn’t know I was holding. All I can hear are the loud thoughts pleading that this works.

For a moment, everything stills when the tip of the knife’s edge bypasses all the pins, the tip hitting the end of the cylinder, and with a slow twist, the lock springs open. 

A quick hit of euphoria nearly knocks all the air from my lungs, and it takes everything I have not to scream in delight when I twist the padlock out from the chains, the grip they had around me giving some leeway to move. Stopping for a moment to breathe deeply, there isn’t much I can do except let the chains fall enough for me to lift my arms completely free. The excitement coursing through me doesn’t let me focus on the lock being too easy to pick.

The clanging of metal-on-metal rings quietly around the room, every fibre in my body praying to a god I don’t believe in that no one has heard anything. But there’s a little streak of doubt, one that knows the nature of this room, that the echoes are used to amplify each sound so the ears miss nothing. 

Before I can really think, I snatch the bigger knife from the table, the sweaty grip of my hands offering limited support to its handle. The cold concrete comes to my attention now that my feet are fully pressed against it, chilled spikes shocking the bottom of them with each step I take, pain shooting up to my knees. 

I find myself on the ground, my vision wavering in and out with every blink. I can’t really tell if I’m moving or not, but there’s a gentle sway that only translates in my upper body, a sort of lulling movement that alerts the part of me that wants— _needs_ to get out of here.

 _Do we have to? He’ll find you, and he’ll be angry with_ both _of us_.

The adrenaline should still be giving me strength, should be feeding me energy until I get out of this mess, but I’ve never felt so drained. My limbs feel heavy and shake with quick spasms every effort I make to move them. 

There’s a distant voice that comes through the high-pitched ringing filling my ears, but it doesn’t hold the kind of power _his_ voice does, my nerves don’t react like they usually do, blurry surroundings remaining as they are. 

The blocks of color move out of the corner of my eye, and I can just make out that the door is being opened beyond the slither it was before. A looming figure stands there, but there’s hardly more light coming from outside the room than the small, flickering light bulb offers. It’s not until a chunk of my hair feels like it’s being ripped from my scalp that I register how close this person is to me. My arms quickly flail upwards, hands grabbing onto anything I can reach to alleviate the shooting pain spiking into my skull.

“What the _fuck_ are you tryna do?!” Through the numbness covering every inch except the part of my scalp is almost yanked off, the voice booms into my ear at a volume that sounds unreal. “You’re gonna get us all _gutted_!” 

My body is slammed against the ground and there’s a distant noise that carries like a gunshot, but I can hardly register any pain. There are quick movements of the person above me, and I can feel that he’s trying to get me back to the chair, but my vision still doesn’t sharpen. It’s all just blurs of different colors sprouting out around the room, and just as I’m being hurled up to the chair, I find myself on the ground again. 

I’m not in control of my movements, my limbs feel numb, they’re moving on their own with every jab they make. Deep breathing — bordering hyperventilation — rocks me back and forth, almost causing me to cave in on myself despite the sudden energy that has found me yet again. My legs still remain useless, but my arms keep at the repeated motion at the man's chest. The haze retreats every couple of seconds, revealing hot, bright red liquid coating my hands. The blurring that comes back isn’t enough to hold in the contents of my stomach, leaving me to sputter and choke briefly. 

My hand still clutching the knife like a lifeline, I force myself away from the lifeless body and towards the door. There’s no use sitting in what just happened, my mind is too fleeting, not worried about anything that isn’t an immediate threat. And yet everything comes into sharp detail, no chipped paint or spot of mold going unnoticed.

If there was anything left in my stomach to give, it would be gone when the trail of blood follows down the poorly-lit hallway. 

_He’s been here for a while._

The thought makes me cringe, but the panic isn’t useful just yet, my mind shoves it down to the pit of my stomach. I can't help the feeling, though. Creaks in the distance or familiar sounds of talking make the panic spike, sending shocks through my entire body and making it almost impossible to think beyond fighting or fleeing. 

The grip I’ve got on the knife stays consistent as I make my way through the maze. The hallway begins to get brighter, leading to an open area that feels like the darkness will still swallow whatever the light doesn’t reach. 

A body splayed across the ground as if they had fallen, it takes me a while to figure out the small puddle surrounding him is his own blood. A handgun lies close to the body, obviously his own that ended up being _useless_. 

There’s still an echo of her voice telling me to wait out, to stay until he comes back, but it’s more hesitant. The scene in this room and the other won’t exactly make him _happy_ , and there’s no one here — alive — that he can take that out on. Except me. It’s almost as if that one thought had convinced her _leaving_ was the best option, because I find myself at the door across the room, hand twisting the knob. 

With the desperate need for fresh air, the wind hitting my body is welcomed despite the creeping pain that was simmering in the background until now. The sun only offers basic comfort as the aching becomes more prominent with every step I take. 

It’s only when I open my eyes that overbearing nausea nearly knocks me to the ground. 

_He can’t be real_.

I know I’m in the Narrows right away with how everything looks like it’s rotting. The small building across the road brings too many memories. 

_He’s sick. This can’t be_ real.

But the more I try to convince myself, the more reality digs into my stomach and plants itself there. Of _course,_ he would use the abandoned warehouse we used to live across from as a hideout. Of course, he put in the extra effort to ensure all the memories hit a place I tried so hard to suppress. 

* * *

I had made sure to keep the water so hot it was all I could think about. Thinking— right now, it was dangerous. Not _useful_. The high I had received after escaping dwindled off an hour ago, but my thoughts never let up. 

It was bad enough seeing the old building we used to live in, where we lived _together._ It was too much _then._ But he made sure every place I sought out was soaked in his presence. 

I bit the bullet and returned, stupidly, to my own apartment. A dingy shithole, but where else was I meant to go when covered in blood that wasn’t my own? Even if it _had_ been my own, the idea of the GCPD paying a visit didn’t sit right in my already sensitive stomach. Not many people paid much notice in the Narrows, if they did, no one made it obvious. Doing the _smart_ thing and keeping their heads down, eyes fixed everywhere except any _one._

For some reason, I’d thought maybe my apartment would be a good escape — a good _break —_ from whatever the fuck was going on. I’d thought I could get my head straight, visit somewhere familiar that didn’t have any traces of _him_ , but once again, I was proven wrong. It makes me feel sick how wrong I was. _Stupid._

It’s why the whole bathroom is filling up with steam, why my naked skin is begging for anything that’s cold, and why I keep myself under the searing hot water. But I find that not even _this_ is helping. It just makes me think _faster._

When I arrived, I knew everything was going downhill. The GCPD barricade tape stuck on the front door frame to create an ‘X’ across the entry was enough to indicate they had already been through everything I’ve ever owned. And I’d be _pissed_ if I didn’t read the mostly ripped down ‘missing persons’ posters littering street poles and dark alleyways; if I didn’t know the couple of days I’d been gone for was actually a generous couple of _weeks_. 

The investigation was recent, too, because there were still marking cones all over the apartment. I tried to ignore them, to beeline straight to the bathroom, but the sight of a Joker playing card tucked in the mirror frame in the bathroom had caught my eye. Seeing it had nearly caused a panic attack to arise. Either he had left it as a nice note for the GCPD, or he had visited _after_ the investigation to fuck with me.

_He knows you’re gone._

No. He can’t. I got here twenty minutes after escaping, walking as fast as I could. He _couldn’t_ have beat me here. 

_You don’t give him enough credit_.

That thought almost makes me shut the cold tap completely off just so I can experience the fun of third-degree burns. He _couldn’t_ have known I was gone early. He probably knows _now,_ but I still have time to escape. Maybe, if my prayers come true, he’ll forget I exist. 

Quick memories from two days — or maybe last _week —_ flash in my mind as I work my fingers through the dried blood that almost coats my hair. Images of him looming over me, watching for across the room or being uncharacteristically gentle spend too much time going through my head. 

‘There we _go_ , hm? Much better than being _trapped_ in your own head.’

I don’t want to _think_ about this. I don’t want to hear his voice, I want to know I’m alone, that he isn’t hiding outside the bathroom, ready to pounce any second. 

‘Why did you leave me, J? You said you’d stay forever.’ 

Hearing my own voice is worse, somehow. Knowing _she_ said that, knowing there’s a part of me that _missed_ him while he was wreaking havoc in Gotham. How my heart feels empty whenever he’s not around, makes me _sick_ in a way I can’t describe. 

I shut the shower water off before I make third-degree burns a reality, wrapping myself in a towel so my eyes don’t linger on specific scars that litter my skin. Some memories pop up but they’re too quiet to hear, leaving as quickly as they appeared. And I don’t pay attention to the mirror, drying myself off with my eyes closed before wrapping myself up again.

I find the closest hasn’t exactly been part of the investigation, or if it was, nothing indicates towards it. The specific urge to flee settles in my stomach, filling a bag with thick clothes that’ll keep me from coming back here any time soon.

‘Oh, don’t worry— I won’t be leaving you again.’

* * *

The case had been sent straight to the Major Crimes Unit as soon as the Joker playing card was found glued with blood to Maeve Abdi’s front door. Her work colleague had said she hadn’t shown up for almost two weeks. It didn’t sit right with Gordon, knowing this woman was gone for so long without anyone noticing. Missing persons weren’t a rarity in Gotham, he knew that. This city was riddled with crimes, even more so when the Joker and Scarecrow had made their debuts. When Batman first showed, the population had some hope and wanted to work towards making Gotham a better place. But the attack with Scarecrows toxin, and then Joker’s cascade of terrorist onslaught, the people of Gotham turned in on themselves. 

There were a few, like Gordon, who kept their trust and faith in Batman, but the majority kept their heads down. It frustrated Gordon, meant he, and the rest of the GCPD, had to work without the help of the public. It meant working without many witnesses coming in to report, or give insight on the crimes. 

Gordon wanted to be relieved after the Joker’s attack was over, but the son of a bitch escaped Arkham three months after he was admitted. The commissioner thought the psychotic clown would begin another series of attacks, but everything had been quiet for an entire month after the breakout. Gordon couldn’t ignore the terror of anticipation that kept him up most nights. He hated just waiting, it was as if nothing had changed. No matter what the GCPD did, they were always two steps behind Joker whenever they thought they were one step ahead. 

He found out quickly that thinking you had control of the situation, even when Joker was locked up in a cage, was always dangerous. That’s why he sat at his desk, reading into every single detail left at the crime scene. 

Forensics had found Maeve Abdi’s DNA on the Joker playing card, and it was her blood the Joker used to stick the godforsaken card onto the door. It made Gordon sick knowing the terrorist was targeting a young woman, but he also didn’t know why. Joker always had a reason, a bigger picture in store, but Gordon couldn’t piece together why a civilian would be relevant. A hostage situation perhaps, but the stint with the two boats proved Joker was a man who rather target hundreds than just one. 

Gordon’s thoughts were interrupted by the quick knock on the door, the voice of a colleague sounding through the wooden frame. 

“Come in,” Gordon called out, dropping the papers back into the folder before closing it. 

The young man came in, holding another folder by his side. His breathing was slightly labored as he walked over to Gordon’s desk.

“Update on the crime scene at Maeve Abdi’s apartment,” The man said, placing the folder gently on the work surface. Gordon gave a quick nod, reaching out to take it in his hands.

“Sir, they found more— new evidence at the scene,” The commissioner leaned back in his chair, looking over the photographs. “We found traces of blood in the shower, there was water all over the bathroom floor. This happened after our original search, we covered every room.”

“Did you send the blood traces to forensics?” The pictures showed more than just traces. The entire shower floor looked like it had been painted with a thin layer of blood.

“Yes, sir. They said the results will be back sometime tomorrow.” 

“What about the clothes?” He asked when he came across the photographs of soiled clothes dumped in a corner. 

“Forensics took samples, but we have the clothes in the evidence room,” The young man kept rocking back and forth on his feet, barely able to keep still as the question that kept him up last night continues to haunt him.

“Ok, thank you, Brooks. I’ll look into it.” An understatement, Gordon knew he’d be looking into this long after the sun goes down.

Officer Brooks nodded, leaving the commissioner at his desk. But the young man hesitated at the door, the question almost eating him alive. 

“You alright, Brooks?” He saw the officer wait at the door, back facing him. He turned hesitantly, visibly grimacing as he held the door half-opened.

“Sir, does… does this mean he’s back?” 

Gordon’s stomach dropped, but he tried to remain unbothered. It seemed both men, and probably all officers working on this case were all dreading the same thing. The commissioner wished he could give a better answer, wished he could ignore the obvious so his colleagues could sleep at night. 

“I don’t know, son, I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say thank you to everyone taking the time to read this fic, it means the world to me!


	5. Double-Edged Knife

_2 Years Ago_

Using the soft murmurs of those around us, I try to distract myself from the guilt building in my stomach. His eyes pour desperately into mine, searching for any hint of doubt, any sign that what he’s saying is getting to me.

“Listen,” He whispers, a slight edge peeking through his voice. “You don’t have to do this…”

I can’t look at him, every object on the table suddenly feigns my interest. But each glance at these distractions, the salt & pepper, the folded napkins, or the cutlery that carelessly rest stabbed in our food, only twists at the feeling in my stomach. I can’t bring myself to explain that I’m the one he should be upset with. Even if I did, somehow, he’d deflect, make it so someone else was to blame for something that was only in my power.

“You don’t understand—,” The words taste sour on my tongue.

“We can find a way to get around this.”

He’s searching for a reason. His eyes are an open book, their flicker of frustration tied closely with desperation running so deep it brings the rest of his face into raw panic.

“Move in with me,” He urges, reaching over the small table to hold my hands in his. “I can help you… It doesn’t _have_ to be permanent… just enough time to lay low—,”

“Daniel—” _This argument is a dead end._

“—He won’t be able to find you if you stay hidden—,” He’s rambling, begging.

“ _Daniel.”_

“You can’t stay with him, Maeve. I’ve seen what he can do, he’ll lose it one day— I know he will. What happens if you’re there when he does?”

I stopped telling him about Jack years ago, knowing this panicked response is the only one I get when the conversation is brought to me. We used to be so close, and could talk to each other about everything and anything, once I had gotten over my stubbornness, finally giving in to his excited energy to overshare. There was a clear withdrawal when I met Jack, I knew it only because I forgot about everything else in my life. Daniel was lost with it. 

He stops abruptly, pursing his lips. His thumbs lightly stroke the back of my hands, silently pleading with me. “I can’t—,”

His eyes suddenly fill with sadness, gently releasing his grip. The ache in my stomach twists. I shouldn’t have come this morning; left him a short, heartless message about my absence. I don’t want him looking at me like this.

“—you don’t understand.” I stutter out, reaching out to keep my hands in his as I feel him withdraw. _Great, make him feel even worse than you already have_.

He looks away for a moment before locking his eyes into mine. I can still see the sadness, but he’s trying to hide it. Always trying to make me feel better. The loud chatter around the small café drains away, leaving a silent hum squeezing my heart until it becomes almost unbearable. I have to stop myself before I let out the sob that’s been constricting my throat ever since he pulled away.

_Please, say something._

But there’s nothing I can say that will make him understand, _truly_ understand how deep this all runs.

Everything is unmoving around him, completely ignored, almost invisible.

Why are you putting him through this? Hasn’t he done, _seen_ enough?

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Just… give it some thought,” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth that doesn’t reach his eyes, and I try to mirror the smile, but I can’t ignore the pricks of tears daring to spill. The grip around my heart falters for a second, “before you don’t talk to me ever again.”

There’s a short laugh that leaves my mouth. His voice carries a familiar light-heartedness, one that I can fall into, forget why I’m even here. But it’s not an option. He’ll end up hurting more if I stay silent.

I want to keep this goodbye from being depressing. It’s not how it should be. So, I follow his lead of playfulness.

“Oh, c’mon, one of us has to be able to let go,” I say in a mocking accusation, dramatically fleeting my gaze around the room that has suddenly found its volume. I feel light again, a genuine smile easily spreading across my face.

It falls quickly. His eyes carry the deep sadness from before, but he makes no effort to hide it. I feel heavy, the pressure in my chest returning.

“…I’m sorry,” I whisper, just audible enough for him to hear. His shoulders have tensed and his grip no longer gives off warmth. He lets out another sigh. But it’s quiet, a ghost if it weren’t for the fall of his chest.

“It’s ok…,” Daniel says, I can barely hear him. The room is suffocating, tearing his voice away from me and replacing it with incoherent chatter that only makes my head throb.

I don’t know what’s more painful: knowing I have to push him out of my life, or the fact that, after all of this, he’s still forgiving me for it. A part of me wants to yell at him, he should know he deserves more than this. I’ve proven to be nothing better than a bad friend, a constant let down who doesn’t even have the decency to tell him the truth.

“You just… please, just keep your distance for a while,” Holding my breath to prepare for disappointment to mold his face, I’m surprised when all I see is disgust.

_That’s how he should see you._

There’s no denying that, but there’s a reason he’s looking at me like that. He’s not even making an effort to hide it.

“You can’t be serious—,”

“ _I’m not asking_.” I don’t know how to be more clear. He's ignoring every word I say, like there’s nothing I _can_ say that will change his mind.

“I can’t just let him walk all over you, you know I can’t.” His hands squeeze mine. “Look at how much he’s changed you,”

“That’s not the point.”

“How can it not be? You can’t tell me he hasn’t changed every part of you that doesn’t suit him,”

His words hit hard. He’s shaking, and I can’t tell if it’s from fear I won’t listen to him or raw anger he feels towards Jack.

“Things are _different_ now.” I press, trying to keep my voice steady and strong despite the feeling that all my nerves are getting zapped one by one. “He’s changed—,”

“No, now he’s just got PTSD on top of everything else in his fucked up head,” He scoffs, becoming less aware of how loud his voice carries.

I shoot a glare his way as a warning. We don’t need the rest of this overcrowded cafe listening in, not with this.

“I don’t want him to hurt you,” He says, quieter now. 

I can feel the muscles in my brows draw together, the glare wearing off until all that’s left is sorrow.

“He won’t.” I say it too quickly, the words dismissing his own instead of holding any true meaning. “Promise me you’ll stay away,”

He pulls his hands away from mine, rubbing his eyes as a sigh deflates his chest. I know his answer before he says it, and I don’t know if what fills me is genuine annoyance or anchored fear of what could happen to him as a consequence. 

“I can’t do that.”

* * *

Daniel’s words were still rolling through my head like tidal waves, half an hour later and it was like he was standing right next to me, his voice clear as day. I knew he was right — he always _is_ — but it’s a truth I don’t want to admit. Leaving Jack would be the best option. A _sane_ person would have left already, would leave _now_ , but there’s always a tug at my stomach pulling me to him. And I hate myself for listening to it, I hate myself because I can never really find the desire to leave him. I’d been giving in for two years now. Every time, I’d dig myself into a deeper hole until I can’t escape anymore. It feels like the last warning. The universe, as Daniel would say, is giving me one last chance to turn back before all of this becomes too much. 

I stopped for groceries straight after I saw Daniel. There needs to be a _reason_ I was out for so long, so Jack won’t get antsy about my whereabouts. Groceries were the only thing that came to mind — not like we have money for much else, but with each step I take up the stairs to the apartment, I hope it’s enough to distract from the fact I was gone for almost two hours.

The apartment is as quiet as it always is, soft noises from the other room barely audible. I don’t realise how much the bag of groceries is weighing me down until I place it onto the kitchen counter. 

“Had a _fun_ , little outing?” I hear him before I see him, his voice potent despite the quiet tone. My eyes follow the sound and find him sitting cross-legged on the ground, not bothering to find comfort in the cheap mattress lying two feet from him. 

“Yeah, it was fine,” My voice finds me before I can give him my honesty. I don’t stop myself, though, because avoiding the path of conversation I was going to go down has gone into hiding as soon as I laid eyes on Jack.

The new holes in his jeans only pull at my attention for a second, his hands occupied and working slowly with wires. It isn’t what strikes me as odd, though, because when my eyes eventually reach his, it’s like they’re boring right into my soul. We stay like this for a couple of seconds, my fingers playing with the paper bag holding the groceries.

_Jesus, he already knows, doesn’t he?_

The feeling of uncertainty grows the longer he keeps eye contact, his fingers working the wires as if I’m not even here. The dark bags under his eyes tell me the half hour it took for me to wake up and leave this morning was the only time he slept.

I don’t remember him coming to bed last night, either. Just looking over schedules I had given him, sketching down plans I didn’t want to know about. But I do remember almost not having the strength to get up this morning. The cold air stinging my skin that wasn’t under the thin blanket or touching Jack. The warmth radiating off his body as if it knew it was my only source of heat. 

His eyes bring me back. The dark pits staring into my soul until I forget to breathe. His eyes did this before everything happened, he could read every thought I had like I was writing it all down for him. Like my eyes were a window he could not only peek through, but study all the contents within until he was satisfied he knew everything. But his fingers still play with the wires, practiced hands not needing the aid of his eyes to know what they were doing.

Before _it_ happened, before his face was cut up into a Glasgow smile caused the switch to flick in his brain happened, I had grown used to his stare, no longer scared of him watching my every move like a hawk. Now it terrifies me. Every time his eyes land on me, something around my stomach coils so tightly I can barely breathe. There’s a whisper of something else, too, and it gets louder every time. I know where it leads, and I want to follow because there’s nothing to be afraid of there. 

“Didn’t miss me _too_ much, hm?” His voice snaps me out of my thoughts. A smile only curls the edges of his lips, causing the healing scars to bunch together, showing off how the corners of his lips no longer purse together like they used to. 

The smile and tone of his voice tell me he just wants a reaction out of me, tells me he’s been sitting here all morning, running through the options of where I was. How the wires in his hands have kept him busy, given his mind an escape before it falls into wherever he goes. The fear is still real, but the condescending tone he employs drags all the energy out of me. I _know_ he’s trying to get a rise out of me, any tick of annoyance that he can exploit, turn against me and feed me guilt that shouldn’t be mine. 

“Listen, Jack, I just need to rest,” There’s a sigh that leaves me, too, but I don’t wait for him to capitalise on my exhaustion, my feet carrying me to a place of refuge, the only closed-off area in this apartment where I can shut the door and he won’t be able to see me.

The bathroom is only small, and I find myself in front of the sink, water flowing out of the tap. The water feels like it was ice just before leaving the tap, though it doesn’t stop me from cradling it to my face until the shocks of the cold prick at my skin. I can hear Daniel’s voice in the back of my head again, pleading with me to stay away from Jack, to get out as fast as I can.

My mind almost wanders off into a space where I don’t have to deal with the consequences of leaving, where I don’t have to think of what Jack might do if I left him. There’s quiet shuffling by the door and a short sigh that lets me know he’s here with me again, though his presence is enough. I turn my body to face him, water dripping off my chin before I can reach for the towel. 

He beats me to it, handing over the small towel gently.

“Thanks,” It’s a quiet murmur that I can barely hear myself, but the short-lived glint in his eyes tells me that he knows without me having to say anything.

Bringing the towel to my face, I pat my face until my skin only holds the memory of the water through the cold that still pricks into the surface. He watches me the whole time, not afraid to stare, though I don’t remember a time where he ever was. His eyes hold a different kind of emotion, one that I can’t put a finger on. It’s soft, almost. Something that’s so rare, anxiety starts to form when I see it. This time it doesn’t. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, or the constant contradicting thoughts reeling through my head, but his relaxed figure propped against the door frame and the gentleness of his eyes makes me want to forget leaving him was an option. 

“Are you alright, May?” He says, the energetic jumps in his voice abandoned. Any quick answers I can give are almost simultaneously knocked from me, the question such a rarity in itself — from _him_ — that I can’t find any words to leave my mouth.

He pushes himself off the door frame, the energy vacant in his voice clearly transpiring to his body, short bursts of twitching running through his hands. Pulling the towel from me, his frame feeling as if it’s towering over me, his neck protruding forward with a quick squint of his eyes. The small smile that pulls at the corner of his mouth, as if a string has been hooked into his mouth and is tugging until it’s satisfied the smile is genuine. Though it’s a dark thought, it’s the only one that lets me know he’s not serious, that lets a smile reach my own lips. 

A shudder almost runs through me when his hand reaches up, brushing the strands of hair behind my ear before resting on my cheek, his long fingers stretching out to massage the back of my neck. The temptation to close my eyes grows when his thumb gently strokes my cheek.

The warmth radiating from his hand repels the freshness from the water, and I lean into it, wanting nothing to do with the cold shivers that ran through my body before his touch. Just when I feel him pull away, my own hand comes up to his wrist, gently holding him in place, the idea of his absence bringing enough pain. His eyes still pool with an emotion I can’t read, but I find it doesn’t bother me as much as it usually does, focusing on his actions alone is enough for now. 

There’s a quiet thought that repeats itself over and over again, whispering this type of behaviour from Jack isn’t a rarity, it’s just something I’ve unconsciously pushed away as Daniel’s desire for me to leave him grew. As I look into his eyes, the playful smile a ghost of what it was, a pang of guilt hits me.

“Just tired…, I’m ok,” I try to use the softness from his voice to fuel my own, though it’s still barely audible, exhaustion lacing itself into every syllable, dragging them down until all that is left is a whisper. I find myself staring into a sea at night, mysterious and intimidating as the waves crash with every blink, something pulling me towards him, wishing there was some way I could drown in it.

Movement from one of his eyebrows is enough to shake me out of it, keeping it raised to draw out a quizzical expression. The corner of his lips curl up again, only slightly, but it brings a light laugh out from me.

“I’m _fine_ , I swear,” I say, and I’m surprised when a short laugh escapes him as well, though I don’t have much time to register before he’s pulling me against him, his lips placed upon my temple in a quick kiss. 

Almost immediately, my body molds against his, my arms wrapping around his middle. Breathing in his scent, I try to ignore the sweat and something too close to gasoline that sticks to his shirt like cigarette smoke. His hands run up and down my back, gently rubbing and I can feel the tension being lifted from the muscles.

“You always are...,” His voice rolls out in a tune, prodding at how unconvincing I apparently sound. He slowly pushes me away, hands holding onto my shoulders to keep me where I am. His hold is strangely firm, with no weak spots showing through twitches in his hands. I rest my own on his forearms, a silent message telling him he doesn’t need to worry about me going anywhere, but he won’t listen. “I’m here with you, hm? _Forever,”_

The line has my eyes rolling before I can tell them to, and a smile spreads across my lips. There’s one beat of silence until I realise he wants a response.

“How _sweet_ of you, Jack,” I push the words out, hitting every syllable like he does in a playful mockery that has my smile widening, but it quickly falls when his expression only hardens. The black orbs stare down at me, an extra hint of anger swirling around to tell me I’ll regret my words. But as soon as it’s there, it’s gone again.

“ _Here_ ,” There’s a high pitch to his voice that electrifies the air around us, bringing in a small panic when he turns my body around to face the mirror, my back pressing into his chest. I find his eyes in the reflection, watching carefully as he brings his arm up around me to rest along my collarbone, the other holding my torso. “I want you to.. uh, _look_ at us.. for a second,” 

His voice goes quiet again, a grave rumble that sounds like it’s come straight from the depths of his chest and to my ear, his warm breath brushing against my neck just enough to tickle. My hands go up to hold onto his forearm, the one that has wrapped itself around my chest, my thumb gently stroking without much thought. There’s a warmth that radiates from his body, clinging onto me by only a thread, promising the warmth will leave when he does, and I find I’m ok with that. Being near him is easy.

“Ever since we _met_ , I knew you were special, hm? Didn’t just _run away_ like everyone else.” Though his voice is kept faint, the way he spends time articulating every syllable has the hairs on the back of my neck standing up, sending a shiver down my spine. “No, _no_ , you… _followed_ me. You knew I could, uh, _help_ you,”

 _Help you_.

The words stick out like daggers ready to impale, the connotations I know a little too intimately. He’s drawing me back to those times before everything changed when he’d teach me certain… skills he thought were _helpful_. I pull my eyes away from his before I get lost in the memories, fending off the nauseous spell impending. 

“ _Look_ , Mae _ve_ ,” Another jab comes out from his mouth, planted right next to my ear that nearly jolts me awake from a slumber I didn’t realise I was in. “I _know_ you’re scared, have been for a while… but _I’m_ here for you. Everyone else… they pushed you away, didn’t they? Didn’t want you _around_ anymore,” 

I try to stop it, but he’s proven to me time and time again that holding off memories of my mother never seems to work. At first, it’s just an image of her, her eyes glassed over enough for me to know any words that came from my mouth didn’t tug at her interest, then it morphs into a cascade of moving frames, all too quick to focus on but staying present long enough for me to recognise the memory. Each leading to a worse, more painful recollection.

_‘I don’t want him to hurt you.’_

It’s Daniel now, just a quiet whisper that grows louder the more I focus on it. I know Jack won’t leave me, he’s made it clear time and time again, but I also know Daniel won’t, either. I wish he would let it go, wish he was the type of person that _could_.

“You know that’s not true,” I say, my words coming out too sharp, too much like his own, and I almost flinch before seeing his reaction. Though everything is still. His arm wrapped just a little too tight around my chest, it doesn’t stop me from trying to turn my head to look him in the eyes, the reflection no longer enough. He tilts his head slightly to the side, eyelids drooping to adjust to the close proximity.

“ _Sure_ it is… don’t tell me you’ve _forgotten_ ,” The high-pitched ringing returns to his voice, taking the daggers and piercing the air surrounding us. There’s a hidden giggle as well, but I try to distract myself before the tone latches onto my nerves.

“I—,”

“Remember all those nights you snuck out- came to _me_ to get away from her, hm? All those nights you’d cling to me like I was your _lifeline_?”

He’s prodding at old wounds that I’ve sown closed for years, over and over again, but he doesn’t care, slicing open the scars and slapping a bandaid over them as if it will stop the river of memories. And as much as I’ve trained my mind not to fall into the times before he left, I can’t keep my attention from the one that hits me in the chest. I can feel his heartbeat, then and now, both slowed and calm. I can’t remember the specifics, just that it was one of the many times I had snuck out to Jacks. I didn’t need to worry about my parents finding an empty bed, I knew they never checked, never gave the morning goodbye before they left for work. So I spent a lot of nights at Jacks, holding onto him like he could make up for the lack of emotional and physical intimacy I got at home. Some nights he’d take me out through the Narrows, teach me little tricks that stained our hands in blood afterward; some nights we’d stay at his house all night. He was right— I _clung_ to him like he was my last breath, desperate to never let go. It was almost as if everything good in my life was forgotten, that he was the only source of joy. 

“Do you remember that night after I had that fight with mum?” I ask, his single eyebrow raised enough to say ‘ _which one?_ ’. “The big storm—,”

“ _Mm_ , came _all_ the way to the Narrows just to see me,” His voice inflated with ego. “‘ _Course_ , I do. How could I _forget_?”

He lets go of me completely now, but it’s the only time I don’t want him to. Just thinking about all those nights I’d venture to the most dangerous areas of Gotham to find refuge in him, brings back an ache in my heart I didn’t know was still there.

My hands reach out to him, holding one of his own between them. 

“She lost her little temper that night, didn’t she?” It wasn’t a question, I know he remembers everything that happened that night.

Losing her temper was an understatement, and it was the one night I didn’t care that they saw me leave home and not return until the next morning. The frustration I had felt was beyond anything I had felt before. It has started with a typical conversation. Mother was acting — _poorly_ — and so was I, nothing out of the ordinary until it was like a switch had been flicked. Most of the night was a blur, she was shouting at me about _something_ before it turned into one hit after another. And when I showed up on Jack’s poor excuse for a front door, he couldn’t have looked more elated. I guess there was something about fresh bruises colouring my skin that sparked his joy, or maybe the dried blood creeping from my nose. That night he had used my anger to coat my hands in blood, again. His own, too.

“That witch was always good at making _her_ poke out,” His words flowed with one pump of his eyebrows.

“ _You_ were, too, you know,” I say, becoming a little lost in the energy twitching at the muscles wired through his body. 

He squeezed my hand, the corner of his scarred mouth quirking up.

“Lucky I stuck around then, hm? Otherwise…, you’d’ve been _all alone,_ ”

“But Daniel, he—,” It’s more a fact than anything, but the wish to bite my tongue has never been stronger.

Maybe it’s the confidence bursting from every word he spoke, or the energy coursing through him, that makes me choose to say the wrong things at the wrong time, but I know the damage as soon as I say Daniel's name.

His smile disappears, his lips forming into a hard line. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that hate was the only thing he was capable of feeling, and the dark embers of his eyes give me a reason to.

“What abou- _t_ Daniel?” There was a graveness in his voice that always made me flinch. Now is no different.

His eyes were hard with anger, no colour, but there’s something else there, too. Something I can’t put my finger on, and maybe I don’t want to, though I know I’ve seen it before. It was similar to the look he had in his eyes when he came home in the middle of the night, hands stained with fresh blood. I didn’t ask then, and I know asking now is only an invitation to get hurt, so I just stare at him, scared that even the sound of my voice is enough to trigger all the electricity running through his wiry frame into a frenzy of violence. 

“Maeve, you better, uh, start _talking_ before I get the wrong _idea_ ,” Why does that sound like a threat?

“I just meant—I meant, he hasn’t left me, either.” There’s too much uncertainty threading itself into every word that comes out of my mouth, and I know he’s picking up on it. 

“Hasn’t he?” He tilts his head forward slightly, raising one brow to latch onto the doubt already flooding my mind. “I thought you stopped talking to him _months_ ago.”

The _promise._ It felt like it was etched into my skin, burning into newly formed wounds.

“Don’t tell me you _lied_ to me.” I’d be defending my ground if each word he spoke didn’t sound like a test, didn’t sound like he already knew _exactly_ what was going on. 

It wasn’t long after Jack had gotten his face all cut up that he made me promise never to see or speak to Daniel again. It was almost as if Daniel had caused the scars himself. And I had made an effort to keep my word, but Daniel always kept coming back. Like this morning, nothing could persuade him to let go. It was like I wasn’t even there, that I was a brick wall he’d chosen to vent to. I knew he wouldn’t listen, but there was always a small hint of hope that he eventually would. 

“I didn’t— I hadn’t talked to him, but—,” I couldn’t stop myself from stumbling over my words, a desperate attempt to get ahead of a situation I never could.

“ _But_?” He already knew the answer, didn’t he? 

“I ran into him this morning, he _insisted_ —,”

His eyes leave mine, traveling to the side with a quick pump of his eyebrows, a short breath escaping his scarred lips. It almost sounded like a laugh.

“—But I _told_ him he had to—,”

“Told him wha _t,_ hm? That he had to _stay away_?” He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “From what _I_ can remember… he was never really _good_ at listening, was he?”

“No, but—,”

“And no matter how many, uh, _warnings_ we give him, he’s always _waltzing_ back.” Disgust dominates his voice with every word as if talking about Daniel almost makes him sick. And I wouldn’t be surprised if it does. “What did he tell you this time?”

My lips feel like they’ve been stitched together, just like his scars were when they were freshly cut. Maybe it’s some sort of self-preservation or a genuine fear of whatever repercussions could stem from the truth, but any words I find are stuck in my throat and refuse to come out. 

“Spit it _out_ ,” Why does every demand now sound like he’s threatening me? Why does it feel like he’ll cut the stitching from my lips just to hear me confirm whatever theories he’s stirred up in his mind?

“He told me… told me to leave you…,” I have no doubt in my mind he was already expecting the answer, he was just itching to hear the words out loud. 

I don’t realise my eyes have drifted to wherever he isn’t until his hand's cradle— _clutch_ onto my jaw, holding my face close to his, watching every little expression of fear pour onto my face. His breath is steady, a knife carving into the flesh as it hits my skin.

“Do you really think he’s gonna stick around when he finds out about your, uh, two _sides_?” I can feel tears pricking at my eyes as my face begins to flush with heat. “Do you really think he _understands_ you, like _I_ do?”

He starts to stroke my cheeks with both thumbs, a loud sigh leaving his lips. 

“ _I_ think… he just wants you away from me, to have you _all_ to _himself._ ” He’s nodding, his muscles twitching in a sick kind of excitement. “But I know the _truth._ He’s gonna see you aren’t who he thought you were… and, well—,” He cuts himself off with a short laugh. “He’s just going to _leave_ you,”

I try to shake my head, trying to convince myself what he’s saying isn’t true, convince myself it’s all lies to manipulate me. But some part of me is listening to what he’s saying, and I hate myself when I find that I believe him. Because it’s true, Daniel doesn’t know about _her_ , and I hope he never will. I don’t know how he’d react, either. He’d see I’m just as screwed as Jack is, and want nothing to do with me. 

“And you’ll end up _all alone_.” His voice deepens, face leaning closer to mine as he stares into my eyes, holding me in some type of mental grasp.

I don’t realise that I’m crying until his thumbs wipe away the tears running down my cheeks, and I don’t register the kiss until he’s already pulling away.

“ _I_ won’t let that happen,” He’s nodding again, his eyes guiding me to mirror him.

I know he won’t. He knows every little detail about me, knows secrets I wouldn’t dare tell anyone, can predict what I’ll do or say before I’ve even made up my mind. He knows _everything_ and he hasn’t left me.

“Hey,” His voice is soft, just beyond a whisper that feathers across my face. “I’m here with you. We’ll be together… _forever.”_

Before I can let out a sob, he’s pulling me against him, wrapping his arms around my frame. I hide my face in his chest, hands clutching onto him like he’s the last breath I have until I drown. My body shakes, his hands rubbing up and down my back in slow motions. I can hear him shushing me, but for once it’s not laced in mockery.

“I won’t let anyone get in the way of that.” I barely catch it, his face buried in my hair.

My mind is too exhausted to read into the connotations, instead, welcoming ignorance as if it were the only thing keeping Jack and I together. But there’s another promise, one I know he’ll keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!  
> There's an obvious lack of Maeve's darker side in this chapter, and that's because Jack has been working on 'merging' the two together throughout their relationship.  
> And Jack no longer takes Maeve on 'adventures' anymore (like in chapter 3 with the knife-lesson thing). At some point, he realized he no longer had control over himself when he killed, so he's kept Maeve away from that whole environment.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've ever written so please if you're able to, send some feedback!


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